’ ‘What son?’ asked Roding. The youth produced a crumpled-up card from his waistcoat pocket. “John, don’t!” she cried. “Yes,” she said, very faintly. 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. I have done n-nothing. In the afternoon my brain and fingers leap to their work because you have been with me.
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