Spurlock sat limply, his arms hanging. “Who’s your violin teacher?” He asked. ’ ‘Don’t be stuffy, Hilary,’ admonished his betrothed. "There's an old proverb," continued Wood, rising and walking towards the fire, "which says,—'Put another man's child in your bosom, and he'll creep out at your elbow. ‘And I don’t mind telling you it goes agin’ the grain with me to let you go free and all, missie. It was locked. The following morning found him in the doctor's waiting room, a black cigar turning unlighted in his teeth. Her mind turned to her own future, the endless trickle of years. They joined the rabble of aspiring James Deans in torn jeans and bomber jackets and girls with Clairol black hair smoking clove cigarettes.
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