He passed his arm under that of the constable, and drew him aside. They were in many respects so right; she clung to that, and shirked more and more the paradoxical conviction that they were also somehow, and even in direct relation to that rightness, absurd. "He's not my son," rejoined the carpenter. "Do you call this frantic glee happiness?" "It's all the happiness I have known for years," returned the widow, becoming suddenly calm, "and it's short-lived enough, as you perceive. In the morning and at night he is dressed as he would dress in the big hotels.
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