It was still too dark for reading, but she could see well enough to note the number of the last page—fifty-six. The street was deserted, no pedestrian school-goers walked immediately in front or behind them. ” He caught her wrist and turned her face towards him. He gurgled as if trying to communicate. “What of her? Have you quarrelled with her?” The girl shook her head. “I’ve been thinking—all the afternoon. Gay," he added, turning to the poet.
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