It’s the poor dears who do, who know they will, know they can’t keep it up, who need to clutch at way-side flowers. She returned home through a world that was as roseate as it had been gray overnight. Everything was going to hell. “Splendid you are looking to-day, Miss Stanley,” he said. ” He demanded as she opened her eyes and stopped moaning. I'll have a peep at him, if I die for it," she muttered, as she went out. I’m rather scornful.
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