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Smith, Francis Hopkinson, 1838-1915

"Peter: a novel of which he is not the hero"


As they approached the small house and mounted the steps leading
to the front porch, Corinne's face could be seen pressed against a
pane in one of the dining-room windows. Garry touched Jack's arm
and pointed ahead:
"Poor Cory!" he exclaimed with a deep sigh, "that's the way she is
every night. Coming home is sometimes the worst part of it all,
Jack."
The door flew open and Corinne sprang out: "Are you tired, dear?"
she asked, peering into his face and kissing him. Then turning to
Jack: "Thank you, Jack!--It was so good of you to go. Ruth sent me
word you had gone to meet him."
She led the way into the house, relieving Garry of his hat, and
moving up an easy chair stood beside it until he had settled
himself into its depths.
Again she bent over and kissed him: "How are things to-day, dear?
--any better?" she inquired in a quavering voice.
"Some of them are better and some are worse, Cory; but there's
nothing for you to worry about. That's what I've been telling
Jack. How's baby? Anybody been here from the board?--Any letters?"
"Baby's all right," the words came slowly, as if all utterance
gave her pain.


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