Miss Garvice repeated again, and almost in the same words she used at every discussion, her contribution to the great question. Her cheeks flushed a dull red. . ‘I want a word with you, my lad. “You hear him?” he remarked, looking impressively around. We dressed it in a little music. The joy of being loved thrilled her as nothing before had ever done, a curious abstract joy which had nothing in it at that moment of regret or even pity.
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