I’m afraid I’m a terribly clumsy fellow. Her white shirt was ridiculously utilitarian, but fitted in all the right places, he smirked. Compared to most of America, you’re rich. “This is my way back to my side of the Park,” she said. But when all was over, a sorrowful calm succeeded, and, if not free from grief, she was tranquil. The last piece was Scheherazade. Sheppard heaved a deep sigh, and opened her eyes, which now looked larger, blacker, and more melancholy than ever. His curiosity, his literary instincts, had been submerged by the recurring thought of the fool he had made of himself. She hoped that he would at long last remember his young male pride.
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