I sit back now, letting life slip by and musing upon it; and I find my loneliness sweet. “I wish this hadn’t turned up to-day of all days. He did not even reply to her for several minutes. “I want to be your friend,” he said. She saw her life before her robbed of all generous illusions, the wrappered life unwrappered forever, vistas of dull responses, crises of makebelieve, years of exacting mutual disregard in a misty garden of fine sentiments.
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