He walked in her direction. Would that a certain major might cast upon her such a look. “You are my friend,” she said, “if any one is. The spinsters—who on the morrow would vanish out of the girl's life for ever—had already left their imprint upon her imagination. Gay, by his strokes of pleasantry, whether in his writings or conversation, never lost a friend. “I was sick of the make-believe. She pulled down her veil and made her way to the door. ‘Just around it, Hilary, that’s all.
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