He was always tenderly courteous; he answered her ordinary questions readily and her extraordinary ones patiently; he always rose when she entered or left the room. Another long interval elapsed. She guarded her mother, or at least she had liked to think so. What was he doing? What was he thinking? It was less than a day now, less than twenty hours. “He has a stubbly yellow moustache, weak eyes, and great horrid hands.
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