A woman’s shoe lay on the threadbare carpeting. Bring the light this way—quick! I cannot decipher the signature. “Dear old Daddy,” she said, “he’ll make a fearful fuss. Presently the odour of burnt powder mingled agreeably with that of the incense. That was the true miracle of the gift; without actual experience, to imagine love and hate and greed and how they would react upon each other; and then, when these passions had served their temporary purpose, to cast them aside for new imaginings. She snatched about in her mind.
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