Ireton; for may I be hanged myself if I don't believe he'll be as good as his word. ” She picked at her sandwich idly. ’ Then she jammed her hat on her head all anyhow and ran from the room. She set her fingers in the hair and tugged, drawing him to a sitting posture and stooping so that her eyes would be on the level with his when he awoke. He wasn't quite hard enough to win worldly success; that was his fault. And she found herself able to do nothing of the sort. Now, abruptly, they were real again, though very distant, and she had come to say farewell to them across one sundering year. There he paused again, half turning his back and pretending to look for someone among the soldiers on the benches. .
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