" "Anything like that?" "Yes; but the colour is lavender. "I understand," she said. Nevertheless Sydney, clumsily, but earnestly, had something to say about it. There was the cottage she had inhabited for so many years,—in those fields she had rambled,—at that church she had prayed. The door to the library burst open. “They are full of the usual foolish stories. In nearly every speech she heard was the same implication of great and necessary changes in the world—changes to be won by effort and sacrifice indeed, but surely to be won.
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