The real tragedy—which he sensed and toward which he was always reaching—eluded all his verbal skill. He pulled on his pants, his yellow shirt with the ridiculous horse logo, his brown socks, and shoes. Rollo barked. For the face under her gaze she could find but one expression—fine. . 5. This individual apparently met with some impediment to his further progress; for he had not proceeded many steps when he turned suddenly about, and darted up the passage in which Wood stood. "You will never leave me," sobbed the poor woman, straining him to her breast. She spotted her opportunity. He held her hand in his, cupped together like a pair of shells for the rest of the hour.
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