” “I think, Mr. They were things I had meant very much to talk to you about, so that I went home vexed and disappointed, and only relieved myself a little by writing a few verses. “I don’t see why I should take it secondhand. Nature is God, Anna, and the greatest artist of us all a pigmy. "Do better in future. By a sort of instinct. "Read that. We shall expect you to tell us all what to wear. And now she was discovering that even Nature was something of a liar, with her mirages and her horizons. A wedding procession turned the corner. ‘How could I know that it is you?’ She peered at him in the darkness. "I am as God made me. “Yes,” she answered, looking away. I am a man—of a sort of experience. Funny codgers, aren't they?" he said.
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