” She stopped buttoning her glove, and looked at him. “Ruin me? Think of me with fondness? Are you dying of cancer or something?” He demanded. ” “She’ll meet somebody one of these days—walking about like that. I have always managed to survive, haven’t I?” She was eager to stop talking about her parents. If only sometimes he would grow angry at her, impatient! But his tender courtesy was unfailing; and under this would be the abiding bitterness of having mistaken gratitude for love. He hated himself a little for it. Mr.
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