"Then it is not too late to save him. ” But after that neither ideas nor phrases had come and she had fallen thinking of the events of the day. When she looked into their eyes, her despair put her beyond tears. There were sidetables and a writing table, similarly buried in bric-a-brac, and the chair by the French doors could hardly be seen for blankets. I have been sitting with him ever since. It was his redemption, his ticket out of hell—that blue-serge coat. Don't shake so.
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