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. And we men would work for them and serve them in loyal fealty. ” The girl sat up and looked at him with a curious twist at the corners of her mouth —humorous or pathetic, he could not tell which. She moved a little nearer to him. ‘And I am thinking now that you may be very suitable.
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