Wild of the circumstance. He was beautiful and perfect, his blue eyes smiling at her. “I don’t see, Mollie,” he remarked, taking a cigar from the box on the table as his sister and daughter rose, “why you and Vee shouldn’t discuss this little affair —whatever it is—without bothering me. He saw now that it was merely a boy. "Well, you never can tell," he continued, lamely. In his muscular pudgy hand was a photograph, frayed at the corners, soiled from the contact of many hands: the portrait of a youth of eighteen. 1.
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