The dream flowers and is harvested, and we are left by the wayside, having served our singular purpose in the scheme of progress: as the orange is tossed aside when sucked of its ruddy juice. He comforted himself, however, with the certainty which he felt of capturing his prey on the Sunday. “Oh, but life is difficult!” she groaned. “But you do not know,” she whispered, “whether I am a married woman or not. The unequal battle went on.
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