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‘That’s my pet name. ” He appeared to be paralyzed by abstruse acoustic calculations. The road from Surbiton and Epsom ran under the arch, and, like a bright fungoid growth in the ditch, there was now appearing a sort of fourth estate of little redand-white rough-cast villas, with meretricious gables and very brassy windowblinds. I don’t care WHAT happens. That shining slope of snow, and how we talked of death! We might have died! Even when we are old, when we are rich as we may be, we won’t forget the tune when we cared nothing for anything but the joy of one another, when we risked everything for one another, when all the wrappings and coverings seemed to have fallen from life and left it light and fire. “If only I could afford another!” she thought regretfully. A short way off in the fields he descried a sort of shed or cow-house, and thither he contrived to drag his weary limbs.
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