She met the keen grey eyes of a clean-shaven man, between forty and fifty, quietly dressed in professional attire. He was a manly man, free from any strong maternal strain, and he had loved his dark-eyed, dainty bright-colored, and active little wife with a real vein of passion in his sentiment. "Nothing!" echoed the other, scornfully. ’ ‘You ain’t never,’ gasped Pottiswick. “You’re. The taste of his sweat was intoxicating, like sweet brandy, like blood.
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