"What are you waiting for?" asked Jack, impatiently. “I was sick of the make-believe. The wastrel, the ne'er-do-well, who went mostly nobly to a fine end. ‘Do you think I do not know? What am I doing here, do you think?’ ‘That’s just exactly what I’ve been asking myself,’ he returned. " The doctor hesitated, puffing his tobacco hastily. Michelle moaned and Lucy, unable to help herself, stroked her hair.
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