Why, he can scarcely be twenty. Bête, she told herself fiercely. I didn't think. This was not exactly what the woollen-draper desired. ’ The core of hurt rose up, tearing at her insides. Spurling bit her lips to conceal her mirth. From time to time she would come upon a line of singular beauty or a paragraph full of haunting music; and these would send her rushing on for something that never happened. He'll settle it bravely. He was safe, out of the beaten track, at last really comparable to the needle in the haystack.
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