“Do you know,” she confessed, “I never thought of that?” He looked at her as though doubting even now whether she could possibly be in earnest. The gale had become a hurricane: that hurricane was the most terrible that ever laid waste our city. “If only I could afford another!” she thought regretfully. I don't care how lonesome it is. What our dear mother would say back home I dread to think. He looked at his port wine as though that tawny ruby contained the solution of the matter.
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