" "And money?" "I'll have plenty, if I'm careful. The conceit of Howard Spurlock in imagining he knew what mental suffering was! But Enschede was right: Ruth must never know. I can’t help you a cent. But, on the bursting of that bubble, his hopes vanished with it. His shirt was unfastened, his vest unbuttoned, his hose ungartered; his feet were stuck into a pair of pantoufles, his arms into a greasy flannel dressing-gown, his head into a thrum-cap, the cap into a tie-periwig, and the wig into a gold-edged hat. Saturday mornings at the Beck house were routine, coffee, newspaper, bagels, and Looney Toons in no particular order. "Mother—dear mother!" said Jack, bursting into tears. In vain Wood protested his innocence. " CHAPTER XV. But I found it no laughing matter, I can assure you. Supper was spaghetti and Italian sausage that night.
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