If she has no children, she goes on loving her husband; but he is no longer a man but a child. With his tongue lolling and his flea-bitten stump wagging apologetically, he glanced from face to face to see if there was any forgiveness visible. My wife—killed me. A nurse came hurrying up. Their flitting hands were always touching. She ought to have written at once and told him exactly what had happened.
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