Every now and then her general presence became radiantly dazzling in his eyes; she would appear in the street coming toward him, a surprise, so fine and smiling and welcoming was she, so expanded and illuminated and living, in contrast with his mere expectation. “Not really. The air was crisp and dry. ‘That’s why I never told Joan Ibstock that you were still with me when I wrote. ’ ‘That old fool? Why my brother kept him on I shall never know.
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