It occurred to her that it was absurd and wrong to be so continuously thinking of one engrossing topic, and she made a strenuous effort to force her mind to other questions. Only now it does not matter at all because Joan has come and has seen me. “I love this warm end of summer more than words can tell,” he said. “He does not come here,” she exclaimed, quickly. You seemed, he thought, to have some grievance which you would not explain and which he thought must arise from a misunderstanding. Beyond was an avenue of tall poplars that rose like columns, disappearing into undulating hills that were black with sleeping houses and fertile soil.
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