Straitened circumstances would not have mattered; a mother would have managed somehow. . His wife met him at the door, and into her hands he delivered his little charge. He felt his heart beat faster and faster—his self-restraint slipping away. The fire—if there was any in him—never made headway against this insistant demand to know the significance of these manifold inward agitations. Anna raised her eyebrows at the sight of him. It would be protective; it would with age turn to silver unnoticeably. The fellow Kimble, to whom Gerald was indebted, was gaping.
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