He started a dozen stories, but they all ended in the waste-basket. She did not want to seem to shrink from conversation, but all sorts of odd questions were running through her mind. A little smothered cry broke from her lips—the curtains were thrown aside and a man stepped out. In the grate were some charred fragments of a marriage certificate. It isn’t just one among a number of important things; for her it is the important thing, and until she knows far more than I know of the facts of life, how is she to undertake it? So please; if you will, forget that you wrote that letter, and forgive this answer. But if that can possibly be done I want it to be done.
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