She saw a pole-chair; that would be this Mr. ’ She stopped, for Jack was feebly laughing. The chair is in the veranda. “More coffee, hon?” She held her hand over the cup. The carpenter did not hesitate a moment. Maybe the girl was telling the truth, and then again, maybe she wasn't. “Next door,” said a spectacled young person of seventeen or eighteen, with an impatient indication of the direction. She hesitated in answering the door, her violin still crooked underneath her chin.
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