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It was a perfect windless spring day, a Sunday. She had unaccountable gleams of sympathy with and liking for him. "Auntie?" he cried. I am too weak to aid you. That dress! Only a man—and an unworldly one—would have permitted you to proceed on your adventure dressed in a gown thirty years out of date. Breakfast was laid for one, a dish of fruit and a shining coffee equipage. 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. "There!" cried Mrs. \" \"If only it worked that way! Oh, it’s just not fair.
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