In his muscular pudgy hand was a photograph, frayed at the corners, soiled from the contact of many hands: the portrait of a youth of eighteen. It isn’t sentiment but it’s horse sense. Girls who had envied her former position as John’s amour passed no opportunity to utter cryptic remarks as she sat in Study Hall, walked down hallways, or rinsed her hands in the bathroom. He would come swiftly to her aid, she knew it. Hitherto you’ve seen only my easy, kindly side. "Humph!" exclaimed Jonathan, doubtfully. And Capes was thinking that his wife was a supremely beautiful woman. Don’t take my word for it though. “There is someone in my rooms,” Anna said. He’s out in Phoenix last I heard.
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