The door to the room in question was closed. He hated himself a little for it. She looked directly at his face, his perpetually graying hair, his hawkish nose, his long cheekbones. It’s just life, pure life, life nascent, running clear and strong. Elegant, a little scornful, she leaned slightly against the back of a chair and looked him steadily in the eyes. As to the picture, I'll keep it myself, though, if you do go I shall need no memorial of you. Wood.
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