And I heard ‘Alcide’ sing, and that little dance she did. For yonder went the loneliest man in all God's unhappy world. She started at the falling of a leaf, at the lumbering of a cow through the hedge. The Widow and her Child. He was draining a glass, and as he set it down he shuddered. A man might be without relatives, but certainly he would not be without friends, that is to say, without letters. And it is not at all his affair.
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