" With no little effort—for the right words had a way of tumbling back out of reach—he marshalled his phrases, and as he uttered them, closed his eyes to lessen the possibility of a break. E. ” “Have I done something wrong? Should I take you home?” “No. “When can we be alone together?” She asked him, never loosening her grip. He never cries nor frets, as children generally do, but lies at my bosom, or on my knee, as quiet and as gentle as you see him now. The streets were full of colour. I had a sort of idea,” he went on, “that you were starting life all over again, and it seemed awfully plucky. “I must read him when I come out.
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