I never intended it to be anything but a short story, for I had never completed even the shortest of stories unless forced to in grammar school. At night she would turn it in her fingers like a rosary bead. She could hear their footsteps upon the pavement. Wearied at length with thinking on the past, and terrified by the prospect of the future, he threw himself on the straw with which the cage was littered, and endeavoured to compose himself to slumber. She began to miss him when he was gone during the day and cherish the quiet times he spent only with her. “Well,” he said slowly, “I had met you three times—before Drummond’s dinner.
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