He did not look up, so he did not know that in her other hand she held a glass of wine. He was a philosopher. To witness this girl sewing on a loose button, flopping the coat about on her knees, tickled his ironic sense of humour; and laughter bubbled into his throat. Restlessness, then, was the trouble, simple restlessness: home bored her. And the hunter home from the hill. "Mr. I felt suddenly I understood you—as an intelligent person. My Mom is hell bent on having the biggest, most beautiful house in the neighborhood, my college education be damned. But, in spite of his general insensibility to such matters, Quilt could not help commenting upon the delicious perfume wafted from the numerous flower-beds past which they were driving.
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