She helped Jack to sit down, and dragged the jacket off him, lifting his shirt to expose the gash that had sliced across his side. The Widgett method of thought puzzled her weakly rhetorical mind. ‘He is not in England, you understand. He wrote poems to her beauty that he recited from a seemingly infinite memory. There were sidetables and a writing table, similarly buried in bric-a-brac, and the chair by the French doors could hardly be seen for blankets. I shall be very sorry if I cannot have you for a friend.
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