He turned, expecting to see his wife. We sha’n’t hang up on any misunderstanding. Wood, was examined. “Why don’t you wear your white blouse more often? It is the prettiest shirt you own. But I was sorry for poor Jack—as I am still, and hoped he would mend. ” He nodded. “It’s precious unromantic. So he sharpened a score of pencils, and after fiddling about and rewriting the last page he had written the previous night, he plunged into work. Afterwards we started for a motor ride to a place outside Paris for déjeuner, and I suppose the man’s nerve failed him. ” “I didn’t mind that little argument. "I could almost forgive the wretch the injury he did me in depriving me of my poor dear wife—No, not quite that," he added, a little confused.
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