He had promised her some books, for she had voiced her hunger for stories. There was once a philanthropist who dressed with shameful shabbiness and carried pearls in his pocket. He had heard me sing—the fool thought himself in love with me. "Sir!" exclaimed Winifred, rising. ” “Why did you tell me? I thought—I thought we were going to be friends. What else could he do? You can’t kick up a scene on the spur of the moment in the face of such conflicting values as he had before him.
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