“You know,” he went on, “this doesn’t seem to me to end anything. We middle-aged fools and we old fools can no longer dream. Now, however, as Gerald watched them, their heads were together and they were murmuring in French. “I’m six hundred and forty-eight, John, but guess how old I look? Fifteen. Let me see now. They reluctantly went back to school the Thursday after New Year’s Day. What was the old tabby at? Unaccountably embarrassed, he cleared his throat. His salary was a few paltry hundreds a year.
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