She was in one of her old walking-dresses, her hair was done in an unfamiliar manner, she wore a wedding-ring, and she looked as if she had been crying. We have seen pitted cheeks, which we would not exchange for dimples and a satin skin. The wind blew in fitful gusts, and scattered the yellow leaves from the elms and horse-chestnuts. Unobserved, she knelt and kissed the threshold: for she knew what kisses were now. I'm no mollycoddle. And then I came here.
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