Anna thrust hers into her pocket unopened, and for the first time left the house without a smile upon her face. There were no evidences of any struggle, no overturned chairs or disarranged furniture. He had done his best, pitching with determined fury that resulted in two outs. “You belong to me,” he said fiercely; “the marriage certificate is in my pocket. The fire—if there was any in him—never made headway against this insistant demand to know the significance of these manifold inward agitations.
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