"Whose grave is this?" he inquired of a man who was standing near it. The blue jowl, the fat-lidded eyes—now merry, now alert, now tungsten hard—the bullet head, the pudgy fingers and the square-toed shoes were all in conformation with the doctor's olden mental picture. She had never imagined life was half so sinister as it looked to her in the beginning of these investigations. " "And who is its mother?" asked Jonathan, in an eager whisper.
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