The hurricane had now reached its climax. The sun was rising, illuminating the trees in black as if they were drawn in ink. His face was a little flushed perhaps, and his small, brown eyes were bright. Wells “The art of ignoring is one of the accomplishments of every well-bred girl, so carefully instilled that at last she can even ignore her own thoughts and her own knowledge. ” She stopped, and then suggested: “I wonder—I should love—if it was anything I said.
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