This is a tale of two young fools. “If you wish,” he said, “I will go there in the morning and see what can be done for him. Not much. But this might be merely a figurative mode of describing his customary vigilance. She sat there, a mark for boulevarders, the unconscious object of numberless wondering glances. “It was a bad day for me,” he said, speaking slowly and painfully. E. Lord, I am sixty. His glance came up again and met hers.
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