” He put his hands in his pockets, his mouth puckered to a whistle, and he went to the door of the outer preparation-room and stood there, looking, save for the faintest intensification of his natural ruddiness, the embodiment of blond serenity. Ladies with weapon’s on ’em. Ruth is not another man's wife; she is all your own, for better or for worse. ” His eyes were squeezed shut. That's the way it goes. You're a queer lad. . "Those chops, fried potatoes, and buttered toast.
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