He tore it down just as the Wastrel rose, wavering slightly. When I think of the love you give me—One ought to give you back love. I burned it. “You don’t want to go?” “No. The doctor nodded. You simply can’t. “Dear John,” she whispered. ‘She?’ ‘Damnation!’ He saw her frown, and added at once, ‘I beg your pardon, ma’am. All the same, I don’t admit it. That's one of the troubles with young folks: they take themselves so seriously. Both arm-chairs had been moved a little so as to face each other on either side of the fender, and in the circular glow of the green-shaded lamp there lay, conspicuously waiting, a thick bundle of blue and white papers tied with pink tape.
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