He beheld a tall gaunt man, his brown face corrugated like a winter's road, grim, stony. And neither had any of that theatricality which demands gestures and facial expression. "To—to—no matter what," returned the widow distractedly. Do sit down, dear boy. Then he opened the study door and called “Mollie!” and returned to assume an attitude of authority on the hearthrug, before the blue flames and orange glow of the gas fire.
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