The militiaman at once thrust the old man between the shoulder blades, pushing him into the kitchen. He motioned the young man to the rear chair, because at that hour the youth appeared to be a quantity close to zero. And besides—We’re going to live, Ann Veronica! Oh, the things we’ll do, the life we’ll lead! There’ll be trouble in it at times—you and I aren’t going to run without friction. The rascal will be at work before the morning.
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