He did not pocket it, but sat hefting it lightly from hand to hand, watching the girl thoughtfully. In a moment the brisk evening breeze caught the lank canvas and bellied it taut. It was an impulse. “I am sure you will marry Nigel sooner or later, and then all your work will be thrown away. “I can see you and Anna groaning and nodding your grave heads together. The Reaper is not sated yet. Plays Beethoven, Rubenstein and all those chaps.
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