“Well,” she admitted. “Oh, yes,” the stranger remarked good-humouredly. Twice we hired caterers. The blue jowl, the fat-lidded eyes—now merry, now alert, now tungsten hard—the bullet head, the pudgy fingers and the square-toed shoes were all in conformation with the doctor's olden mental picture. Larry would be up soon. Their conversation degenerated again and again into a strain of self-congratulation that would have irked an eavesdropper.
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