“Don’t you know?” “Oh! I know—” “Well—” Her face was an unaccustomed pink. No matter what they do, always someone to bolster them up, to lend them money, and to coddle them. For in life there is but one hour: an epic or an idyll: all other hours lead up to and down from it. Each was draped in transparent silk, dancing, beckoning to me, teasing me.
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