Below the window he saw two coolies carrying a coffin, which presently they callously dumped into a yawning pit. He had not been successful as the world counted success; the fat bank-account, the filled waiting room of which he had once dreamed, had never materialized except in the smoke of his evening pipe. Perhaps some one had kissed the brow that was now so cadaverous, rubbed that sunken cheek with loving fingers, held that stringy neck with passionately living hands. Come into the parlour, Winifred, and dry your eyes directly, or I'll send you to bed. God, I hate these stupid ear infections! Have you ever had one?” Michelle asked. .
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