He moved, after quiet intervals, with a quick little movement, and ever and again stroked his small mustache and coughed a selfconscious cough. Only her face was clear, frail and delicate, almost flower-like, with the sad haunting eyes ever watching his. Guiltily, she felt very little for him, and yet she wondered what he would be like. During the week, her uniform was the blue and white scrubs of a nurse, the job she had suffered at for twenty-seven years.
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