He saw her young and graceful back as she descended from the carriage, severely ignoring him, and recalled a glimpse he had of her face, bright and serene, as his train ran out of Wimbledon. “Who’ll mind the baby nar?” was one of the night’s inspirations, and very frequent. It’s only as if I’d begun to know you the day before yesterday or there-abouts. No matter how often she came across this phase in love stories, there was never anything explanatory: as if all human beings perfectly understood.
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