Somebody ought to talk to him, warn him. He looked melancholy enough, it is true. She winced as he thrust the fact at her, was about to answer, and checked herself. It was bleeding again. They were childless and servantless, and they had reduced simple living to the finest of fine arts. A ragged gray moustache drooped from the corners of his mouth and a ragged wisp of whisker hung from his chin.
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