” She realized it was possible to be sorry for him—acutely sorry for the situation. Wood. His gangling body was clothed in rusty twill trousers and a long black seersucker coat, buttoned to the throat, around which ran a collar which would have marked him the world over as a man of the Word. It hit her just above the knee. ” “An appetite like yours,” he said resignedly, “is fatal to all sentiment. And the hunter home from the hill. That's the way it goes.
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