Besides, I'm afraid her simple honesty will spoil any invented yarn. Even the children jeer. "Can't you guess?" returned Winifred, throwing her arms about her neck. The dream flowers and is harvested, and we are left by the wayside, having served our singular purpose in the scheme of progress: as the orange is tossed aside when sucked of its ruddy juice. “Miss Pellissier,” he said, “I don’t understand this change in you.
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