"Ay. He was content to watch her accepting compliments and gaudy bouquets full of red roses, white carnations, and purple statice. For a moment she remained silent. His eyes closed. ‘Parbleu, you waste time. “Forgive me,” he said, “but I want to hear it from your sister. So he sharpened a score of pencils, and after fiddling about and rewriting the last page he had written the previous night, he plunged into work. This business of love is the supreme affair in life, it is the woman’s one event and crisis that makes up for all her other restrictions, and I cower—as we all cower—with a blushing and paralyzed mind until it overtakes me!. “I have made no arrangements as yet— none at all.
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