Wood, in his Sunday habiliments and Sunday buckle. He thought of her and himself, and no longer in that vein of incidental adventure in which he had begun. " "The pianist?" "Yes. As she raised it, its lower portion fell apart into two baggy crimson masses. Then the hotel manager struck his palms together sharply, and two Chinese "boys" came pattering in from the dining room. Wood. For all that, it is folly. “You silly fool,” he said.
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