Hill was exchanging greetings with his hostess, and salutations around the table. Love and lavender, he thought, perhaps wistfully. He had not been successful as the world counted success; the fat bank-account, the filled waiting room of which he had once dreamed, had never materialized except in the smoke of his evening pipe. He gripped one of her pert nipples with his fingers as he came inside her. The both of them puttering about the tidy two-story house, Lucy would serve them both steaming cups of tea in the front parlor.
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