So, in broken, rather breathless phrases, he told his story; and when he had done, he laid his arms upon the table and bent his head to them. She felt that for a time at any rate her depressing struggle against continual failure was at an end. He stood upon the threshold, dangling his eye-glasses in his fingers, stolid, imperturbable, mildly interrogative. “Yeah, everybody knows him Mom. Wood fared still worse. ” Annabel had been lying curled up on the lounge, the personification of graceful animal ease.
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