” “I say,” she reflected, “you ARE rather the master, you know. Sebastian traveled at seventy, eighty, then one-hundred down the freeway. Her knees almost sank beneath her as she raised the latch of the front door and looked out. He returned to attend the funeral. The cheating of the boys in the stores ceased. She was unusually helpful at breakfast, and unselfish about the eggs: and then she went off to catch the train before her father’s. For what could be more ironical than for Howard Spurlock to see himself grow famous under the name of Taber? The ambrosia of which he had so happily dreamt!—and this gall and wormwood! He stood up and rapped his pipe on the rail. He wriggled underneath her heaving body, pinned like an insect. This was the bitterest hour he had ever known.
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