She was trying by some wonderful, secret, and motionless gymnastics to restrain her tears. He turned irresolutely to the table upon which lay the scattered leaves of his old manuscripts. He smothered it down with such a good will that the reaction set his heart to pounding. He was also, had she known it, more than a little insincere. “Will you say what you have to say, please, and go. She knew, too, she must not hesitate. You don’t want to look like Bozo. Be seated, and calm yourself.
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