Their chit-chat stopped when they reached the bench. “Are you A, B, C, or D?” he asked. "My friends, Mr. " "Bull's eye!" piped O'Higgins. He was a thin old man, a wreck in a ruined body, but nothing would induce him to stand in any other way than as stiffly erect as possible like the soldier he had always been, even though he was obliged to lean on his silver-handled cane to do so. A fever of shame ran through her being. One wants helpers and protectors—and clean water.
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