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THE LATER LIFE
19
The table was laid. It was nearly seven. Constance would be there in no time. And, sitting down in the drawing-room with a cigarette, looking round the room—Constance' room all over, in which he sat as a stranger—he hummed, while he waited for his wife and his son:
"And Ottocar had a motor-car; but I—have—none! . . ."
