In his muscular pudgy hand was a photograph, frayed at the corners, soiled from the contact of many hands: the portrait of a youth of eighteen. ’ He threw a fulminating glance at Gerald. "I leave this bowl for you," he cried, returning it to the landlord untasted. Surely his calculated desire to sit near her meant that his attention had surely been brought from its normal diversions into her realm. He could not tell whether she was English or American.
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