I waited for her at the back. I’m anxious, joyfully anxious, like a man when he has found a treasure. Always as black and bitter as gall. It wasn’t clear to me that I had to explain. It may be instinctive; it may be that children vaguely realize that at the end of all wedding journeys is disillusion. She refused to eat. She seemed to have recovered herself as he returned, but rose as if she would go back to the saloon. ” He smiled bitterly as he handed her from the cab.
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