Wood uttered something like an imprecation. ” “Of course you’re converted?” she said. He pictured himself visiting the girl in this shabby little home of her aunt’s—she had told him that it was shabby—and he recalled that delicious little smile with which she would surely greet him, a smile which seemed to be a matter of the eyes as well as the lips. She had fallen asleep on the wooden bed, uncaring of lice or bedbugs.
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