They were just nice. She lingered over donning her winter coat, buttoning each toggle and placket, double knotting her long scarf. ’ ‘Yes, but when I think about this, I do not think I can do so,’ she said candidly. ” “An appetite like yours,” he said resignedly, “is fatal to all sentiment. They’re just a joyous softening of the outline—more beautiful than perfection. “Mid-thirties. It was still too dark for reading, but she could see well enough to note the number of the last page—fifty-six. I've tried the plan, and found it answer. I wish”— she found she had embarked on a bad sentence—“I wish we needn’t have quarrelled.
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