"Then it's all over with us. He looked just like John Wayne in a cowboy movie, his eyes narrow and squinting, except his hair was long, unruly, and jet black. She looked at him confusedly, his black hair glinting under the dim lights. He had not been successful as the world counted success; the fat bank-account, the filled waiting room of which he had once dreamed, had never materialized except in the smoke of his evening pipe. You are your nephew's executioner, or he is yours. For her it was sufficient to know that somebody wanted her, that never again would she be alone, that always this boy with the dreams would be depending upon her. You understand. I don’t know. She had to exert tremendous energy not to sniff the air for his blood. " "A promise to my mother?" said Winifred, unsuspiciously.
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