” The strain in her face was visible as she tried to remember. She found herself mildly entertained by staring at the houses through the rain as she walked home, all cast in a gray blurry film noir gauze of rain. His hair had begun to gray, his belly had just begun to round. " "Poor child!" muttered Trenchard, abstractedly; "the whole scene upon the river is passing before me. "My old coco is disintegrating. But it means no end of a row. "I can't see him. But you, Ferringhall, our pattern, an erstwhile Sheriff of London, a county magistrate, a prospective politician, a sober and an upright man, one who, had he aspired to it, might even have filled the glorious position of Lord Mayor— James, a whisky and Apollinaris at once. She drew it out with shaking fingers. But I've stacks of books and a grand piano-player.
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