” “I suppose,” said Constance, stencilling away at bright pink petals, “it’s our lot. There was no need of sowing suspicion when he wasn't really certain there were grounds for it. He went on. "No friend like the mother, for the babby knows no other. For such of us as pretend to be wise—and we are but fools in a lesser degree—we know that humanity moves onward only by the impellant of fine dreams.
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