With his arms bare, the neckband of his shirt tucked in, he laboured. "Lord, if I can only remember to write it exactly as you told it!" He jumped to his feet. Two or three podgy-looking old men with wives to match, half-a-dozen overdressed girls, and a couple of underdressed American ones, who still wore the clothes in which they had been tramping half over London since breakfast time. Marthe has told me that the house comes to my mother, Ma—ry Re—men—ham. I am not prying for my own amusement. They send you every good wish.
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