“He spends hours of every day on the pavement below,” Anna answered calmly. “I do not think that he is quite dead. You think you will. I loitered in the shop as you chatted with the butcher’s girl. I can’t help it. He came in with his hands in his trousers pockets and a general air of depression in his bearing. I’ve had a headache all day. The raising of twenty-five pounds was a task altogether beyond her powers. CHAPTER XXVII.
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