It was a beautiful place that she had found, a round cave by a small stream. “Do you remember the mountains? Do you remember how we loved one another? How intensely we loved one another! Do you remember the light on things and the glory of things? I’m greedy, I’m greedy! I want children like the mountains and life like the sky. In the middle there was a gate. “Really, Sir John,” she said, “I don’t know how to thank you. “I wonder,” he said, “how you would like to be made love to—boldly or timorously or sentimentally. There had been fusses and scenes dimly apprehended through half-open doors. “Life is upsetting enough, without the novels taking a share,” said Mr. But I liked to say it.
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