“Can I bring you anything, sir—a whisky and soda, or a liqueur? You’ll excuse me, sir, but you haven’t touched your coffee. His chin was angular and his lips were 16 small, his mouth tiny and refined. Ruth went on to explain. Beyond was an avenue of tall poplars that rose like columns, disappearing into undulating hills that were black with sleeping houses and fertile soil. He had plugged along, if not happy, at least with sound philosophy.
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