He reached a silver cigar and cigarette box from the sideboard and put it before his father-in-law, and for a time the preliminaries of smoking occupied them both. "I don't think he would leave me, even if I could part with him," observed Mrs. "You're wanted. See how he gets on, father," he added, appealing to Wood: "the box seems to grow under his hands. ‘I live in Kent. "It is addressed to my mother," he added, as his eye glanced rapidly over it, "and by my father. ‘It is nothing.
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