” Hill looked up at him, an unkempt, rough-looking object, with broken collar, tumbled hair, and the blood slowly dripping from his face. He knew. Wood, in deploring his wild career, adverted to the melancholy condition to which it had reduced his mother. Where else could she go?’ ‘And there aren’t too many of them around,’ agreed Hilary on a gloomy note. . " "Piano-player? Do you mean someone who plays for you?" "No, no; one of those mechanical things you play with your feet. You must let me take you to things—to meetings and things, to conferences and talks.
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