At length he proceeded toward McClintock's bungalow, drawn by the lights and the sound of music. Young, not much older than she was: she was twenty and he was possibly twenty-four. It warms me, and lights me, and fills my world with flowers. She went about, intentlooking and self-possessed, trim and fine, concealing her emotions whatever they were, as the realities of her position opened out before her. “The very question, my dear sister,” she said, “tells me that I have succeeded. But also this must not go on.
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