“We are the music and you are the instrument,” she said; “we are verse and you are prose. ” He was not in the least surprised. ’ Then he bowed, raising his hat in salute and, crossing to the coach, spoke briefly to its driver and leapt into it without looking back. White Sears special-order orthopedic shoes, polyester pants, and cotton print blouses were her usual weekend attire. Only of course I must begin something else at once. She dreaded living off the land again, like an animal, as she had done for dozens of years at a stretch. Miss Mary being his only child ’an all, he were in a right pelter. “Yes.
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