He accepted the glass of wine, and bowed. He had meant to be master of his fate that evening and it had escaped him altogether. Old and dilapidated, the widow's domicile looked the very picture of desolation and misery. "He's not my son," rejoined the carpenter. “A nice time of anxiety you’ve given me, young lady,” he said, as he entered the room. “You’re kidding, right?” “Not kidding at all.
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