’ ‘Get rid of the wench,’ Roding said brutally. Now I shall never hear it but what this evening will come pouring back over me. But the aunt seized her in her arms and rocked with her. Who but you would have dreamed of giving the boy such a name? Why, it's the name of a river, not a Christian. The call of youth to youth, and we name it love for want of something better: a glamorous, evanescent thing "like snow upon the desert's dusty face, lighting a little hour or two, was gone.
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