“It isn’t quite that we’re toys. " "It is strange," replied Winifred, artlessly. "I loved you," replied Jack,—"don't start—it is over now—I loved you, I say, as a boy. “It was poison—why not?” she answered. But she did not in the least want to do that. She quickened her pace, and so did he, talking at her slightly averted ear. Kind of knows it, too. “Your great success has been my joy, our joy as well as yours. Then they would leave and she would go back to being alone. That was the wonder of these stories; one lived in them. ” He said.
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