. She had noticed a twenty year pattern emerging, and funny how opportunity seemed to strike just when she was getting truly anxious. Then there was Tom Jarrot, the hackney-coachman, who was pitched off the box against yonder curbstone, and broke his leg. She gently placed the car back upon the ground. Their idea of maidenly innocence was just a blank white—the sort of flat white that doesn’t shine. ‘Coward,’ she threw at him, brandishing the sword. But let that verse tell my secret. Every now and then her general presence became radiantly dazzling in his eyes; she would appear in the street coming toward him, a surprise, so fine and smiling and welcoming was she, so expanded and illuminated and living, in contrast with his mere expectation.
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