The hand which the man had been holding hung limp and nerveless at her side. Stanley. There were one or two bitter moments in his life when he had been made to feel that gentility laid on with a brush may sometimes crack and show weak places—that deportment and breeding are after all things apart. “I can say no more. I am carrying back a hundred new books and forty new records for the piano-player. I hope I haven't given any unintentional offence?" said the widow, again meekly appealing to Wood.
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