I had put my
hat down on the chair instead of hanging it up, as I should have done,
because the family was away and I was alone in the house.
Might he smoke? He was busy with his bull-dog pipe and my tobacco jar
before I could say yes. He explained that he was sorry, but he found he
could neither read, write, nor think nowadays without his pipe. He
admitted that he was the slave of a noxious habit, but it was too late,
and he might as well get all the solace he could out of a pretty bad
situation. But, as I look at Philip, I cannot help feeling that his fine
colour and the sparkle in his blue eyes and his full count of nineteen
years make the situation far less desperate than he portrays it. Philip
is not a handsome lad, but he will be a year from now. At present he is
mostly hands and feet, and his face shows a marked nasal development.
Before Philip has completed his junior year, the rest of his features
will have reasserted themselves, and the harmony of lineament which was
his when he was an infant, as his mother never tires of regretfully
recalling, will be restored.
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