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 waving, her voice raised in screams. Her two children were running far behind her down the road.

"I had a fambly once," remarked Snailem, "but they're all dead. Wife and triplets."

"Ow, the villain," cried Phœbe, "to desert his poor wife like that! He ought to be horsewhipped."

"Hold your tongue," ordered Mrs. Machin, "you'll likely be deserted yourself some day."

They saw Windmill stride quickly to his wife and take her roughly by the arm. His touch only made her more violent, and Miss Carss, after watching them struggle for a moment, turned abruptly away and began to run along the bluffs towards home. Windmill's wife, seeing her rival retreat, ceased her screams, and sank exhausted to the grass. The two children reached their mother's side and threw themselves upon her, sobbing. Windmill's bowler hat was on one side. He stood looking down at the dishevelled heap of humanity before him, the wife of his bosom, and the two beings he had begotten, who had brought this shame, this chagrin, this retribution across the sea to him.

"It was for all the world like a play," heaved Phœbe from the depths of her.

"All the world's a stage," observed Snailem, moving closer to her.

"All the world 'ud be a work-house, if we was all as simple as some folks," snapped Mrs. Machin.

Windmill and his wife sat for an hour or more on the cliff, talking earnestly. It was almost dark when he came at last to the house, leading one of his children by each hand. His wife, he explained, was not in a condition to meet strangers but she would like a pot of tea. He would carry it to her. He displayed his pink-cheeked children