. " "You're a philosopher, too. Spurling. The sun shined weakly through brief pinpricks 90 in the thick cloud cover, the weather was brewing a storm. " "That likeness is the chief cause of my misery," replied the widow, shuddering. The simile started a laugh in his throat. In the distance a barrel-organ was grinding out a pot pourri of popular airs. ” He sidled toward her, but she recoiled from him, leaving him in possession of the hearth-rug. .
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