” She stated boldly. “Cheer up, Annabel. He wore a threecornered hat, a sandy-coloured scratch wig, and had a thick woollen wrapper folded round his throat. That was one of the compensations for having consigned himself to this part of the world. A town called Foster. He had not been successful as the world counted success; the fat bank-account, the filled waiting room of which he had once dreamed, had never materialized except in the smoke of his evening pipe.
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