She nursed at his neck as he peacefully slumbered through being killed. “We are, or rather we were, so much alike then that the portrait of either of us would have done for the other. ” They loitered under trees, they sat on mossy banks they gossiped on friendly benches, they came back to lunch at the “Star and Garter,” and talked their afternoon away in the garden that looks out upon the crescent of the river. They did not want her. Her steps slowed. “You are coming right out into life—facing it all. His cigar burnt out between his fingers, and he threw it impatiently away. And, besides, she didn’t just immediately want to make her attempt.
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