“Oh, I am lonely,” she moaned. " "The ways of Providence are inscrutable," observed Wood. All bad verse—originally the epigram was Lang’s, I believe—is written in a state of emotion. “Dear friend,” she said, “remember that you are speaking to one who has failed in the only serious object which she has ever sought to accomplish. She felt herself falling, her bile rising in her 61 throat, the cold wind spinning around her like vertigo. ” “You’re leaving, aren’t you?” He accused.
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