org. \" Said John as he piled the papery remnants of their meal onto the tray. In all his life he had never realized a dream; but the thought had never before hurt him. And yet—I love you. ‘What do you mean?’ ‘You have papers of identity, for the Mother Abbess told me so. This niggardliness compelled him to cross and recross streets. You Americans laugh at our custom of honouring our ancestors, our many-times great grandfathers.
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