“Don’t they look like a pair of young lovers sleeping off a tryst?” He observed. They are not your flowers. Probably he will come around to-morrow and begin all over again. There came a wild rush of anthropological lore into her brain, a flare of indecorous humor. "But be prudent, my angel. “You see,” he said, “from my point of view you’re grown up— you’re as old as all the goddesses and the contemporary of any man alive.
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