He poured a pinch of tobacco into his palm and sniffed. Look at me, and answer me one question. It is no fault of your own that you are not at this moment standing there with your head blown off. Frequently he would take up a box of talc and send a shower down his back, or fill his palms with the powder and rub his face and arms and hands. "Take me, then," replied the widow. Some of the delicate colour which the afternoon walk had brought into her cheeks had already returned.
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