He allowed his irons and clothes to be taken off without resistance. She was tired, hungry—and thus somewhat impatient for the food Mrs Ibstock might bring—and downcast. In the little apartment, under the gas chandelier, his inches and his stoop were certainly very effective. Instinctively she had fallen into the posture of the poster, her hands behind her, her head bent slightly forward, her chin uplifted, her eyes bright with the drollery of the song.
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