He stood upon the threshold, dangling his eye-glasses in his fingers, stolid, imperturbable, mildly interrogative. Mistresses neither deserve consideration nor commiseration. “But was it wise to sing to-night?” “Why not? The man was nothing to me. Moving back to the corner again, she ran a hand back over the leather-bound books—which, she realised, were not books at all. "I read those stories. John, I have something to say to you. Thank you for the books. Wood bore up with great fortitude against the shock, attended the inquest, delivered his evidence with composure, and gave directions afterwards for the funeral, which took place on the day but one following—Sunday. "Shall I take the babby home with me!" persisted Wood, in a tone between jest and earnest.
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