They were bickering, she could tell by the way the mother threw her fat arms into the air and paced restlessly about the tiny clapboard house. The man who staggers, whose face is flushed, whose attitude is either noisily friendly or truculent, has some chance; liquor bends him eventually. The situation bothered him considerably. But she did not in the least want to do that. "Where is he?" asked she, in an agitated whisper. “Yes. . " "Aye, music hits them. ” He walked from his door frame to stand nearer to her. I undid his coat, and I took it from his pocket. ” She looked around the apartment again.
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