Her sadness was manageable only because she was so familiar with its phases, because she could observe its moods remotely, like an astronomer studying the moon. To think of him as loving her would make all that different. Here was the corner-stone of a capital story; but he knew that Howard Spurlock would never write it. “And you brought her a man, I presume. I've already got some college credits 40 from my gifted courses. ‘No, for you had your own selfish plans already made, that is now seen. "And now," she added, with somewhat more composure, "leave me, dear friends, I entreat, for a few minutes to collect my scattered thoughts—to prepare myself for what I have to go through—to pray for my son.
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