She flew up from her stool and faced the door. The blue jowl, the fat-lidded eyes—now merry, now alert, now tungsten hard—the bullet head, the pudgy fingers and the square-toed shoes were all in conformation with the doctor's olden mental picture. Wood. The lad had just barely jangled it, when hurrying footsteps could be heard inside. . I knew where I would go next: Florence. Enjoy.
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