He looked at it with uplifted eyebrows, but made no remark. He stared at the woman depicted thereon for a long moment, awe in his head. At Christmas he gave her a set of a small edition of Meredith’s novels, very prettily bound in flexible leather, being guided in the choice of an author, as he intimated, rather by her preferences than his own. Vorsack. It is the same man, for he raved in the hospital, and they fetched me. For she and this old lady became at once friends.
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