He never cries nor frets, as children generally do, but lies at my bosom, or on my knee, as quiet and as gentle as you see him now. The manager stared at the empty doorway for a space, shrugged, and returned to his ledgers. After what seemed like an eternity he turned right onto a dirt road that ended unceremoniously at a copse of leafless trees. "No offence," returned Jonathan. “That’s HIM,” said Ann Veronica, in sound, idiomatic English.
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