"Mr. She offers me no explanation, permits me absolutely no hope. One trouble, however, shot its slanting bolts athwart the shining warmth of that opening day and marred its perfection, and that was the thought of her father. He’s dead. “It is like old times,” she said, “to hear these home truths. He may not know you’re in England, but if he has the smallest knowledge of your character, he must surely be expecting you. "Neither man nor woman shall apply that term to me. Stay me with flagons, comfort me with apples, for I am sick of love. Women never throw themselves into each other's arms; they calculate the distance and the damage perfectly.
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