She was a large, resilient girl, with a foolish smile, a still more foolish expression of earnestness, and a throaty contralto voice. Her aunt glanced up startled, and then sat very still, with hands that had ceased to work. He may not be able to eat tin-cans, but he tries to. She feared he might take her tears as a sign of weakness. “You are really a good Samaritan,” she declared.
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