But for a long time, anyhow, we lovers have to be as if we were no more than friends. "I can do without it," muttered Jack. “My dear Miss Stanley, when I talked to you the other afternoon of work and politics and such-like things, my mind was all the time resenting it beyond measure. While she worked, Melusine worried over the problem of getting Jack home. The dream flowers and is harvested, and we are left by the wayside, having served our singular purpose in the scheme of progress: as the orange is tossed aside when sucked of its ruddy juice.
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