“And where,” he asked, “are my rivals?” “Deserters,” she answered, laughing. I have often felt before that it is only when one has nothing to say that one can write easy poetry. His eyes caught at hers with passionate inquiries. ” She glanced at him, and it was suddenly apparent for one instant of illumination that this ring upon her finger was the crowning blunder of her life. That’s how things are; that’s the order of the world.
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