It was as if her finite human brain could only store a limit of information, details like hair color and fingernail shape easily jettisoned to make room for the nuances of a grin or the emotion of a shoulder blade. The raising of twenty-five pounds was a task altogether beyond her powers. Like a thorough-bred racer, he would sustain twice as much fatigue as a person of heavier mould. He wore a silk hat a little tilted, and a morning coat buttoned round a tight, contained figure; and a white slip gave a finish to his costume and endorsed the quiet distinction of his tie. I don’t know. . It is like some accident.
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