" Thames hastily cast his eyes over it, and transferred it, with a look of incredulity, to Wood. He was always word-building, a metaphorist, lavish with singing adjectives; but often he built in confusion because it was difficult to describe something beautiful in a new yet simple way. “I suppose things have changed?” she said. "I cannot do it. My only love is for my poor lost son. The man who staggers, whose face is flushed, whose attitude is either noisily friendly or truculent, has some chance; liquor bends him eventually. And her mother, looking unusually alert and hectic, wore cream and brown also, made up in a more complicated manner.
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