She produced a handkerchief, and with one sweep of this and a simultaneous gulp had abolished her fit of weeping. His name was Peter. He was more like a man who had left his bed in the middle of convalescence. “There are some people,” he said at last, “who seem fated to carry on their shoulders the burdens of other people. He was heartily thankful for it. The dog was, in a sense, a gift of the gods.
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