“Ass!” he went on, still warming. John looked at his feet bashfully. ‘Your wife?’ ‘My wife,’ he repeated, rising also, his smile mocking her. My mother died the day I was born; that’s what they tell me. It was easy to discover that he was a knave, but equally easy to perceive that he was a pleasant fellow; a combination of qualities by no means of rare occurrence. Warren’s Profession.
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