“It is too late for visitors,” she remarked. At this juncture, a cry burst from the child, who, nearly smothered by the weight imposed upon him, only recovered the use of his lungs as Wood altered the position of the bundle. Far away there was the one woman for this boy of mine—some human being who would understand the dear fool better than all the rest of the world. The chair had extension arms over which a man might comfortably dangle his legs. And Leonardo told me never to trust any man.
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