In the old days he had been something of an athlete—a runner, an oarsman, and a crack at tennis. He had not been successful as the world counted success; the fat bank-account, the filled waiting room of which he had once dreamed, had never materialized except in the smoke of his evening pipe. Wood, (for I never do anything without consulting my better half,) I'll take the boy, educate him, and bring him up to my own business of a carpenter. “Shit!” John quickly countered, “What are you going to do? She’s a motor-mouth, Lucy, of the worst kind.
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