“Don’t!” she begged. Do you remember your first day with me?. She was nestled under his bedspread. “I don’t mind, of course, your seeing her sometimes, still there are differences— differences in social atmospheres. She had a horrible glimpse of the once nice little old lady being also borne stationward, still faintly battling and very muddy—one lock of grayish hair straggling over her neck, her face scared, white, but triumphant. "Quilt Arnold called this morning to say so. In a little while—to-morrow—all these tender, beautiful emotions will pass away, and I'll become what I was yesterday, a cynical, miserly old spinster. I suppose you came right out and asked him about his family?’ ‘Nothing of the sort. For some seconds of voluminous thinking they looked at the ring between them, and neither spoke. She was almost tempted to tell him, if only to see the cracks of surprise and incredulity break the immobility of his yellow countenance. You're in luck to-night, widow. The lady reseated herself, watching him expectantly.
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