Her eyes travelled about the room as if in appeal to the very chairs. Where her husband saw only two youngsters in the mating mood, she felt that tragedy in some phase lurked in this room—if only in the loneliness of these two, without kith or kin apparently, thousands of miles from home. She was tired, hungry—and thus somewhat impatient for the food Mrs Ibstock might bring—and downcast. I’m sorry to disappoint you. It’s my other side of the moon.
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