Here was no crooked soul; a little weak perhaps, impulsive beyond common, but fundamentally honest. The cry was echoed by twenty different voices. “H’m!” he said, regarding the wreckage with a calmer visage. He wrote poems to her beauty that he recited from a seemingly infinite memory. The audience was made up of parents, teachers, and a few other curious folks from town, all sitting hushed in anticipatory silence as the school orchestra assembled onstage. ” “Gwen said she was happy.
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