“We are, or rather we were, so much alike then that the portrait of either of us would have done for the other. "All life is a muddle, and we are all muddlers, more or less. He flung Ruth aside, careless whether she fell or not. '" "'This be the verse you grave for me: Here he lies where he longed to be; Home is the sailor, home from the sea. ‘I find you excessively rude. She knew that her voice was superior to Annabel’s, and she had no further qualms. Only old librarians and Shirley Temples say that.
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