She made herself serenely unaware of his existence, though it may be it was his presence that sent her by the field detour instead of by the direct path up the Avenue. We middle-aged fools and we old fools can no longer dream. Here she walked more slowly, looking constantly at the notices in the shop windows. Wood did think of it, and groaned aloud. It was as if her aesthetic sense had become inflamed. ‘I only wish I might have won her confidence. .
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