“Now bite as hard as you can, John. “Oh my God, what if she’s dead?” More giggling. " "My dear," observed Wood, "you should be more charitable—" "Charitable!" repeated his wife, "that's your constant cry. You have never known what it is to want food, raiment, shelter. He hadn't gambled or played the horses or hit the booze back there in little old New York…. It was a gracious gesture, she thought, as he trudged to the Beck’s humble doorstep in his stiff blue polyester uniform.
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