. "Shall I take the babby home with me!" persisted Wood, in a tone between jest and earnest. I want you to turn me. He was conscious of a peculiar pleasure in sitting there and thinking of those few hours which already were becoming to assume a definite importance in his mind—a place curiously apart from those dry-as-dust images which had become the gods of his prosaic life. She was too delicate, too fragile to survive out there. Most unsatisfactory. “Yes, I know.
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