‘As I have said, it was a quarrel between the vicomte and Monsieur Charvill. This was the first young man who had drawn from her something more than speculative interest. I don’t mind it. Oh God! pardon me. \"Would you like some orange juice?\" Larry had already been working outside for an hour, Mike at his side, dragging grass clippings to the compost pile. Gifts came from Florence: rubies and emeralds, a beautiful statue of Santa Maria for their garden grotto, a gorgeous silk tapestry of a hunting scene that alone made the price of her dowry look paltry. Loving was self-forgetfulness, pure delighting in another human being. But she had spent nearly half of it, and had no conception of how such a sum could be made good again. In the end, resolution triumphed, as it was sure to do, over the weaker emotions, and he laughed at his fears. She dropped the manuscripts and swiftly brought the coat to him, noting that a button hung loose. Every window, from the groundfloor to the garret had its occupant, and the roofs were covered with spectators.
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