He was perched on the very edge of the leather seat of the coach, his threecornered hat twisting nervously in his hands, and from time to time he passed a tongue over dry lips. . Not a bad man as men go, but he would sell whisky and gin. Since morning he had become fanatical; the atoms of common sense no longer functioned in the accustomed groove. “Martin, I don’t know what to say. It was a sickening process, and the sucking sound was sure to wake up Ray’s mother.
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