Ann Veronica pushed aside a tea-cup and the vestiges of her strawberries and cream, and put her elbows before her on the table. We middle-aged fools and we old fools can no longer dream. Things happen to women—proper women—and all they have to do is to take them well. Directly dinner was over Mr. Not up here, I think. Could you pull over? She asked. It made me wake up, and there I lay thinking of you, spending your nights up here all alone, and no one to look after you. The young man's imagination suddenly pictured the man as a rock, loosed from its ancient bed, crumbling as it fell. He would talk to Spurlock, but from the bench; as a judge, not as a chagrined lover.
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