Old farmhouses loomed as they whizzed by, left behind in the gray like mourners. I heard John was talking about you again from Jenny McIntyre. Alcohol— would you believe it?—steadies his nerves and keens his brain: which is against the laws of gravitation, you might say. Ah! she looks this way, and puts her finger to her lips. He played variations on this theme for the better part of an hour. Stanley, standing up with a sudden geniality and rubbing his hands together.
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