Had he had the child to think of, he might have recovered from his grief at Mary’s death. One’s sense of proportion, battered out of all shape in the daily life of cities, reasserts itself. ‘C’est ridicule. Satisfied with his scrutiny, he produced a pocket-flask, and taking off the silver cup with which it was mounted, filled it with the contents of the flask, and then seizing the thin arm of the sleeper, rudely shook it. ’ Then memory hit and he stared at his friend. I don’t see what you can have to say.
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