We were alike. ‘It weren’t my wish, miss, I can tell you that. " Miserably his thoughts shuttled to and fro in search of what he knew she wanted —a love story. "I had one," answered his sister, in a mournful voice; "and, perhaps, I have one still. It was so hopeless to put it to them. Afterward, one afternoon, he hovered about her, and came and sat beside her and talked of beauty and the riddle of beauty for some time.
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