We mustn’t make it so. Oh, I’ve loved love, dear! I’ve loved love and you, and the glory of you; and the great time is over, and I have to go carefully and bear children, and—take care of my hair—and when I am done with that I shall be an old woman. The evening breeze came; the bamboo shades on the veranda clicked and rasped; the loose edges of the manuscript curled. But I was sorry for poor Jack—as I am still, and hoped he would mend.
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