Wood was so much exhausted that he was obliged to retire to his own room, where he continued for some hours overpowered by grief. “I don’t see, Mollie,” he remarked, taking a cigar from the box on the table as his sister and daughter rose, “why you and Vee shouldn’t discuss this little affair —whatever it is—without bothering me. Perhaps what I need is something to bite in. I said I’d make shirts. As this seemed insufficient, after a lapse of five minutes, he added another hundred weight.
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