Sheila was a stout woman, her bosoms huge, her face 110 wide and square. Picked up the photograph, looked at it, handed it back, and never batted an eye! The act was as clear as daylight, but the motive was as profoundly mysterious as the race itself. Also she made little pussy-like sounds of a reassuring nature. She had a feeling at his departure as of an immense cavity, of something enormously gone; she could not tell whether it was infinite regret or infinite relief. I took the money myself, and ought to know.
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