"Keep off, you accursed jade!" roared Jonathan, "—off, I say, or—" And he struck her a violent blow with his clenched hand. She donned her fuzzy slippers and traipsed downstairs, the welcoming smell of coffee beckoning her, the sound of Looney Toons music barely audible from the television set. She bussed his cheek with her small lips as he stood by the open door, and exited alone towards the sleeping house. “Close your eyes. "By my shalvation, boy," he added, fiercely, "if you don't take your hande off my peard, I'll sthrangle you. ‘Do not imagine that I will leave poor Jacques.
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