This was not exactly what the woollen-draper desired. He pulled her from him to kiss her on the mouth and paused, looking into her face. Don’t leave me in this beastly thing. I asked him why, and he hadn’t a reason. He wondered if the young fool had any idea of what he had drawn in this tragic lottery called marriage. A ragged gray moustache drooped from the corners of his mouth and a ragged wisp of whisker hung from his chin. “Look round the table,” she said. Nor, indeed, did she want to refuse.
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