Many things were only words, sounds; she could not construct these words and sounds into objects; or, if she did, invariably missed the mark. Now Owen Wood had one fair child, Unlike her mother, meek and mild; Her love the draper strove to gain, But she repaid him with disdain. The future was not so black. “The plain common-sense of the case,” he said, “is that we can’t possibly be lovers in the ordinary sense. You will have to tell me. ’ Gerald grinned.
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