With the extra seventy-five pounds she had put after birthing her final son, Steven, her knees weren’t in good shape to be running up and down stairs all day. \"I guess so. ’ ‘Captain Roding, sir,’ put in Gerald, adding on a jocular note, ‘Another of the green whippersnappers you had to contend with some years back. Please sit down, Miss —dear me, I haven’t asked you your name yet. He did not play golf, but took his exercise on horseback, which was also unsympathetic. Boys, at the time of which we write, were attired like men of their own day, or certain charity-children of ours; and the stripling in question was dressed in black plush breeches, and a gray drugget waistcoat, with immoderately long pockets, both of which were evidently the cast-off clothes of some one considerably his senior. “Don’t you have a wife? Where are your children?” She asked. " Here she began to blubber loudly for sympathy.
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