. One’s sense of proportion, battered out of all shape in the daily life of cities, reasserts itself. I was afraid that I might be called upon as a witness. “I don’t know whether I shall go on,” said Gwen, a novel note of languorous professionalism creeping into her voice. Whisky kills him suddenly; it does not sap him gradually. Where is he, Sir? Can I see him?" "No, that you can't," answered Mrs. He did not want Ruth to see his own stricken countenance; nor did he care to see hers, ravaged by tears.
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