” She said. But let that verse tell my secret. Let me only wear your livery. Whether they are loved or unloved has no bearing upon this desire to test their wings, to try this new adventure, to take this leap into the dark. I hate what I am. Gosse had moved forward, his pistol arm out straight, his aim true, the gun cocked. In a little while—to-morrow—all these tender, beautiful emotions will pass away, and I'll become what I was yesterday, a cynical, miserly old spinster. There is no Heaven for your mother.
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