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. Very good. The hymnal lyrics had never stirred her; she had memorized and sung them parrotwise. I leaned over and looked at him—he was quite still. “What a little brick!” he murmured. “I wonder,” she said, “why one writes him sentences like that? It’ll have to go,” she decided, “I’ve written too many already.
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