"
"Well, what's the answer?"
Then, with an intentional outbreak of mirth, the answer was given by
two loudly whispering voices together:
"A stuck-up boarder!"
George didn't care.
On Sunday mornings Fanny went to church and George took long walks.
He explored the new city, and found it hideous, especially in the
early spring, before the leaves of the shade trees were out. Then the
town was fagged with the long winter and blacked with the heavier
smoke that had been held close to the earth by the smoke-fog it bred.
Every-thing was damply streaked with the soot: the walls of the
houses, inside and out, the gray curtains at the windows, the windows
themselves, the dirty cement and unswept asphalt underfoot, the very
sky overhead. Throughout this murky season he continued his
explorations, never seeing a face he knew--for, on Sunday, those whom
he remembered, or who might remember him, were not apt to be found
within the limits of the town, but were congenially occupied with the
new outdoor life which had come to be the mode since his boyhood.
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