They were silent for a time. He seemed to be. “We have a small studio,” she murmured, “in the Rue de St. “I want my life to be beaten gold just in order to make it a fitting setting for yours. ” They loitered under trees, they sat on mossy banks they gossiped on friendly benches, they came back to lunch at the “Star and Garter,” and talked their afternoon away in the garden that looks out upon the crescent of the river. Briefly explained, she was as the child who discards the rag baby for the living one.
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