“You know I’m old-fashioned, Miss Stanley. You know the sort of thing. You were content, and I came to thrive on your happiness. She had a horrible glimpse of the once nice little old lady being also borne stationward, still faintly battling and very muddy—one lock of grayish hair straggling over her neck, her face scared, white, but triumphant. He was confounded by the presence in which he found himself.
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