The mother, Cathy Beck, was as patient and as charitable of an individual that Lucy had ever known, a big kindly Polish-American woman with the heart of an angel. He was leaning against a window frame, his hat in his hand. “I had a dream in the night,” she said. "Did you never see two gentlemen with only a couple of peepers between them before!" "Never, I'll be sworn!" said Smith, taking the opportunity of filling his glass while his comrade's back was turned; "we're a nat'ral cur'osity. "I'm too well acquainted with your proceedings, Madam, to believe that. In stature, he was short and stumpy; in person, corpulent; and in countenance, sleek, snub-nosed, and demure. They stank, and she hated how they blocked the sunlight. The thought of going back!—the thought of the unknown out there!—" with a tragic gesture toward the east.
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