A delicate flush of colour streamed into her cheeks. "How old are you?" demanded Miss Prudence. "Release your prisoner," continued Wood, "or the window is opened. The dream flowers and is harvested, and we are left by the wayside, having served our singular purpose in the scheme of progress: as the orange is tossed aside when sucked of its ruddy juice. " Emptiness; that was the doctor's initial sensation: his vitals had been whisked out of him and the earth from under his feet. She didn’t choose her man.
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