She could see that he was curious, so she sat upon him and they rocked back and forth. The flowers upon the mantel-shelf were withered and drooping—she had gathered them. Never again would he repeat that kiss; but at night when they separated, he would touch her forehead with his lips, and sometimes he would hold her hand in his and pat it. Nobody regards Constance or Vee as a delicate trifle. In the matter of his conscience he was primitive; and for an educated man to become primitive is to become something of a child.
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