” John took his hand away. “Don’t you think I ought to?” she asked, very submissively. She wondered if he was already tired of her, if he would rudely push her away as one would a prostitute. “Anna, you are the dearest, bravest sister in the world,” she cried. They got in my mouth. In the subdued light she could not tell whether he was asleep or awake. It’s the poor dears who do, who know they will, know they can’t keep it up, who need to clutch at way-side flowers.
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