But he held the smile until she turned away from the curtain. "After all, he is my father, Hoddy; and I cursed him. In his muscular pudgy hand was a photograph, frayed at the corners, soiled from the contact of many hands: the portrait of a youth of eighteen. Vorsack would staunchly disapprove of his attire, said nothing anyway. \" He panted, wiping sweat off of his brow with a towel.
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