Why? While the front of his mind was busy warning her not to fall into the hopeless miseries of underpaid teaching, and explaining his idea that for women of initiative, quite as much as for men, the world of business had by far the best chances, the back chambers of his brain were busy with the problem of that “Why?” His first idea as a man of the world was to explain her unrest by a lover, some secret or forbidden or impossible lover. In fiction you make the Chinese secretive, criminal, and terrible—or comic. “We are, or rather we were, so much alike then that the portrait of either of us would have done for the other. “How are you feeling?” She asked. Saturday mornings at the Beck house were routine, coffee, newspaper, bagels, and Looney Toons in no particular order. " "I dare say no such thing," interposed his better half, authoritatively; "remain where you are, Sir. " With no little effort—for the right words had a way of tumbling back out of reach—he marshalled his phrases, and as he uttered them, closed his eyes to lessen the possibility of a break.
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