She helped Jack to sit down, and dragged the jacket off him, lifting his shirt to expose the gash that had sliced across his side. She rested her head upon his shoulder. "Come! I see the storm has blown over," cried Winifred, brightening up. His job as a painter was wearing him down acutely as he aged. God, Lucy, what’s it been, how many years?” “I’m so sorry, John. ” They eyed her incredulously.
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