"His disguise was capital; but I detected it in a moment. So, in broken, rather breathless phrases, he told his story; and when he had done, he laid his arms upon the table and bent his head to them. A young man was playing the banjo. 167 “True love is forever, isn’t it?” It was something a child would say, a phrase she had seen scratched on bathroom walls and maple trees, but it made her sad. The great gray boles of the palms reminded him of some fabulous Grecian temple. "Attend to me, Mrs. "Going to befuddle himself between now and dinner," was the comment of Prudence. ‘Here we go again. “By Jove!” he broke out, “one tries to take a serious, sober view.
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