She was pensive and thoughtful. “You seem to forget that my sister is—married. In mid-bite, she heard a car door slam that was recognizable. Let me have more light, that I may behold him. Like a river swollen by many currents, it gathered force from the various avenues that poured their streams into it. He now understood her interest in Taber, as he called himself: habit, a twice-told tale. "Can you not love him?" "Love him!" echoed the widow. I don’t think they do matter. .
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