” She laughed. But there is something in your voice that makes me distrust you. He would never be able to figure out that: all these miles from Cuba, and you could get a perfecto for thirteen cents. She made herself serenely unaware of his existence, though it may be it was his presence that sent her by the field detour instead of by the direct path up the Avenue. She was slender, and sometimes she seemed tall, and walked and carried herself lightly and joyfully as one who commonly and habitually feels well, and sometimes she stooped a little and was preoccupied. " "My poor son!" groaned the widow, sinking backwards.
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