“You are very kind to think of it,” she said, “but—don’t you think perhaps—that I had better not?” He smiled indulgently. “We are the music and you are the instrument,” she said; “we are verse and you are prose. Glancing idly up at her own window as they had swung round the corner she had seen a strange thing. Still, her face never betrayed this distraction. Cloud back of your hat!" He opened his eyes again.
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