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“I”—he seemed to have a difficulty with the word—“I love you. Now I shall never hear it but what this evening will come pouring back over me. This is your room. She was dressed in a simple evening gown of soft creamy silk, with a yoke of dark old embroidery that enhanced the gentle gravity of her style, and her black hair flowed off her open forehead to pass under the control of a simple ribbon of silver. ‘That was one of my own clever stories. Playing became a way of escape. I know in Paris you pinched and scraped that your sister might have the dresses and entertainments she desired.
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