" "Well, for my part," observed Mrs. ” He stood before her, his hat in his hand, his head bent, his voice lowered to a convenient pitch. Papillon would have broken him down; anything tender would have sapped his will; and like as not he would have left the stool and rushed into the night. The walls rocked, the footrail of the bed wavered, and the girl's head had the nebulosity of a composite photograph.
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