” “It’s an unrest—a longing—What’s that?” The waiter had intervened. When he had finished he took up the wine list and ordered a bottle of dry champagne. “And children must we women bear— “Oh, damn!” she cried, as the hundred-and-first couplet or so presented itself in her unwilling brain. Our heads swim with the thought of being together. ‘Good God! Everett Charvill, as I live. We mustn’t make it so.
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