“It’s just that he doesn’t seem like your type. He would have to sit down here in Canton and wait, perhaps for weeks. Or become a thorough-going typist and stenographer and secretarial expert. “The dawn!” said Miss Miniver, with her glasses reflecting the fire like pools of blood-red flame. We can’t even protect them from themselves. "This locket," he said, taking a little ornament attached to a black ribband from his breast, and giving it her,—"do you remember it?" "I do—I do!" cried Winifred.
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