” Mr. The room was worse than pokey, it was shabby; and the view from the window, of chimney pots and slate roofs, wholly uninspiring. It was warm, shielding, comforting, and what was more, full of understanding. Life! Life and love! It makes me want to be always young, always strong, always devoting my life—and dying splendidly. ‘No, no, I am convinced your very first theory was right. ” “You do not understand me at all,” she declared.
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