“It is a night of endings,” she murmured to herself. Her impressions of this cardinal ceremony were rich and confused, complicated by a quite transitory passion that awakened no reciprocal fire for a fat curly headed cousin in black velveteen and a lace collar, who assisted as a page. From time to time she would come upon a line of singular beauty or a paragraph full of haunting music; and these would send her rushing on for something that never happened. "'Under the wide and starry sky, Dig the grave and let me lie. For a time he heard no more, and stared with stony eyes at a Book-War proclamation in leaded type that filled half a column of the Times that day. She was dressed for the street very much as her own maid was accustomed to dress, and there was a thick veil attached to her hat. She obeyed, extending her arm. Last time— you made me feel snubbed. "Good night!" "So," muttered Jonathan, "having started the hare, I'll now unleash the hounds. It was hard to part with romance, but she had never thirsted so keenly to go on with her University work in her life as she did that day. She contrived to break down the barriers of shyness at last in one direction, and talked one night of love and the facts of love with Miss Miniver.
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