Perhaps some one had kissed the brow that was now so cadaverous, rubbed that sunken cheek with loving fingers, held that stringy neck with passionately living hands. Not only that, but he carried himself erect— the slight slouch which had bent his shoulders had altogether disappeared. There was a murmur or two among the watchers on the bench, but no one ventured to intervene again. "Put it under my pillow," he said. “You are an impostor. ” He fumed.
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