“It was a bad day for me,” he said, speaking slowly and painfully. Something he saw there made him feel for a moment ashamed. They carried no more than bare subsistence wages; and they demanded all her time and energy. He hadn't gambled or played the horses or hit the booze back there in little old New York…. She fell into another slumber, one which was more like a blackout. The locket contained the face of her mother—all the family album she had.
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