Instinctively she knew—some human recollection she had inherited—that she must not disturb him in this man-agony. His French is better than mine, so he knew exactly what he was handling. Surely she could ignore him. Her lips were dry and cracked. Her eyes where glassy and shining. I’m not half smart enough for the West End. "Shall I take the babby home with me!" persisted Wood, in a tone between jest and earnest. .
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