Above the work-table was a drop-light—kerosene. She’s hated me for no apparent reason ever since Fourth Grade. He was conscious of a peculiar pleasure in sitting there and thinking of those few hours which already were becoming to assume a definite importance in his mind—a place curiously apart from those dry-as-dust images which had become the gods of his prosaic life. This spike is more than half cut through. Public school. If he wished, he could even take this inheritance from her.
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