It’s the poor dears who do, who know they will, know they can’t keep it up, who need to clutch at way-side flowers. He drew a little breath of relief. ’ He closed the panel and came slowly out of the little dressing-room, Roding at his heels. The weed was all right. And she buried herself beneath the straw, which she tossed above her head with the wildest gestures. “I have been bearing this—for your sake. " "Och! if he's a friend o' yours, my dear joy, there's no more to be said; and right sorry am I, I struck him.
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