But she did not talk readily, and in order to say something she plunged a little, and felt she plunged. Spurling, half aside. Instinctively she knew—some human recollection she had inherited—that she must not disturb him in this man-agony. When they were home, the pair headed for the Big Apple or the warmth of the Beck’s family table. It’s not you—not a bit.
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