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Updated: May 27, 2025
"Lester, Lester; that man! A fine lot he knows about what is good for a child. A card-player, a whisky-drinker!" "Now, hush, papa; I won't have you talk like that," Jennie would reply warmly. "He's a good man, and you know it." "Yes, yes, a good man. In some things, maybe. Not in this. No." He went away groaning. When Lester was near he said nothing, and Vesta could wind him around her finger.
Jim drew a flask from his pocket, then hesitated as if in doubt. "Don't mind me," Bob assured him, hastily. "I'm strapped in the driver's seat." But he looked on with eager appreciation as his brother-in-law filled a long glass and sipped it. Bob had never been a whisky-drinker, yet the faint odor of the liquor tantalized him.
Their father was ill also. He was an intelligent man who had had some education, but preferred to remain as if he were one with the rest of the working people. He had a passion for music and played the violin pretty well. But now he was getting old, he was very ill, dying of a kidney disease. He had been rather a heavy whisky-drinker.
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