I was his wife. He looked like the shadow of himself—thin, feeble, hollow-eyed—his beard unshorn—nothing could be more miserable. Shall we sit outside and drink a petit verre of something to give us an appetite while dinner is being prepared?” “Certainly not,” she answered. Besides, I'm afraid her simple honesty will spoil any invented yarn. She took up the poker and stirred the fire vigorously.
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