She dressed rapidly and left the theatre without a word to any one. My dear! we’ve had so many moments! I used to go over the times we’d had together, the things we’d said—like a rosary of beads. I do not wish for you to see me feed. In between naps she increasingly found herself gazing at him, his large nose, his eyes circled in silvery plum shadows, his thin lips parted as he slept baring a rim of perfect teeth. Passing at a glance over the whole of the intervening period; leaving in the words of the poet, —The growth untried Of that wide gap— we shall resume our narrative at the beginning of June, 1715. I’m too young 117 for this to sound right.
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