His analytical bent saved him many times, though he was not sensitive to this. Good night. His wife met him at the door, and into her hands he delivered his little charge. “Now you look happy. ’ ‘Couldn’t help but do so, ma’am,’ said Mrs Ibstock. So, here he was, on the last lap of middle age, in China, having missed all the thrills in life except one—the war against Death. Lucy trudged upstairs behind 258 him and he put his hand on her shoulder and said, “I’m sorry about this evening. The expression, however, which would chiefly have interested a beholder, was that of settled and profound melancholy. His shoulders were bent, his face was furrowed with wrinkles.
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