A dissipated, loose-living man. Young, not much older than she was: she was twenty and he was possibly twenty-four. His head was small and bullet-shaped, and he did not wear a wig, but had his sleek black hair cut off closely round his temples. Even though I knew you’d no one else to care. I’d come back from the ends of the earth. “John! Welcome! Happy Thanksgiving!” Cathy cried, ushering him deeper into the house.
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