A girl—at my age—is grown-up. I have come thirteen thousand miles for this young fellow; I'm ready to go galloping thirteen thousand more. And how can I get into one brief letter the complex accumulated desires of what is now, I find on reference to my diary, nearly sixteen months of letting my mind run on you— ever since that jolly party at Surbiton, where we raced and beat the other boat. . My reply to all of them has been the same.
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