At Morningside Park I feel as though all my growing up was presently to stop, as though I was being shut in from the light of life, and, as they say in botany, etiolated. The kissing of the book struck her as particularly odd, and then the policemen gave their evidence in staccato jerks and stereotyped phrases. “I’m next, Mr. “I have been very selfish,” she declared. ’ Gerald smiled. It is not well that a daughter should talk to her father as Ruth talked to hers that day. Her little white hand stole across the table. All bad verse—originally the epigram was Lang’s, I believe—is written in a state of emotion. .
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