She staggered to the fireplace and thrust it into the heart of the dying flames. A deep dread calm, like that which precedes a thunderstorm, now prevailed amongst the assemblage. She let out a wail. We men are like children. “When it comes there is no mistaking it. She’s hated me for no apparent reason ever since Fourth Grade. And by degrees, perhaps, that maiden distrust of yours that makes you shrink from my kisses, will vanish.
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