She set her fingers in the hair and tugged, drawing him to a sitting posture and stooping so that her eyes would be on the level with his when he awoke. A white house that she often found charming loomed gray and ashen, its gardens shorn for the coming winter. This was enough for the poor widow. But she disapproved more and more of her own mental austerity. “I thought you were coming right across the Park. It was difficult to get right.
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