There's kind of a settish look to his face,
and--"
"I guess that's the common sense comin' out on him, then," said
Sheridan. "You'll see symptoms like that in a good many business
men, I expect."
"Well, and he don't have as good color as he was gettin' before.
And he'd begun to fill out some, but--"
Sheridan gave forth another dry chuckle, and, going round the table
to her, patted her upon the shoulder with his left hand, his right
being still heavily bandaged, though he no longer wore a sling.
"That's the way it is with you, mamma--got to take your frettin'
out one way if you don't another!"
"No. He don't look well. It ain't exactly the way he looked when
he begun to get sick that time, but he kind o' seems to be losin',
some way."
"Yes, he may 'a' lost something," said Sheridan. "I expect he's
lost a whole lot o' foolishness besides his God-forsaken notions
about writin' poetry and--"
"No," his wife persisted. "I mean he looks right peakid. And
yesterday, when he was settin' with us, he kept lookin' out the
window. He wasn't readin'."
"Well, why shouldn't he look out the window?"
"He was lookin' over there. He never read a word all afternoon,
I don't believe.
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