He pulled on his pants, his yellow shirt with the ridiculous horse logo, his brown socks, and shoes. Nor is Theresa, or even Thérèse. Mr. "I don't know his name. He would never be able to figure out that: all these miles from Cuba, and you could get a perfecto for thirteen cents. You want industry—you want steadiness. He made his speech a little elaborately. Let me lend you some money. This queer father of hers had given her everything but his arms. "Suppose he does.
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