"What would my poor mother say to it?" "I was sorry to see that about your mother, Jack," observed Hogarth. The curtain tinkled as her head brushed it, but he neither saw nor heard. Am I so forgettable?” He strode down the hall as she ran to catch up with him past lockers someone had painted an abysmal shade of gray blue. " "Of course—of course," returned Wood, hastily; "anything's better than that.
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