Essentially the talk was a mixture of fragments of sentences heard, of passages read, or arguments indicated rather than stated, and all of it was served in a sauce of strange enthusiasm, thin yet intense. They were bickering, she could tell by the way the mother threw her fat arms into the air and paced restlessly about the tiny clapboard house. He was a bad dog; he knew it perfectly; but where there was laughter, there was hope. The kiss was powerfully moving. “I don’t see,” gasped Ann Veronica, “why parents and children.
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