I was—I was a corespondent. For some seconds of voluminous thinking they looked at the ring between them, and neither spoke. "Hear me, Jack!" shrieked his mother. For four hours he had shifted his own troubles to the shoulders of these imaginative characters. He pictured himself visiting the girl in this shabby little home of her aunt’s—she had told him that it was shabby—and he recalled that delicious little smile with which she would surely greet him, a smile which seemed to be a matter of the eyes as well as the lips.
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