” He stroked her hand gently. But of what avail is this? You have no execution, no finish. E. “It is not an easy matter,” he said, “for me to offer you an altogether adequate explanation. "Certain. I thought that you loved Paris and your work so much. "I can readily see," he said, "why you'll always be as poor as a church mouse. ” “Anything except that,” he murmured. She found the silence comforting, as old people often do. A sob was strangled in her throat. We two just love each other—the real, identical other—all the time.
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