. . She put back her hood in a determined way. Not a word was uttered for some time, nor any sound heard except the stilled sobs of the unfortunate mother. “I think that it is only an idea. The steps, even the pavements, were invaded by little knots of loungers driven outside by the unusual heat of the evening, most of them in evening dress, or what passed for evening dress in Montague Street. “Your great success has been my joy, our joy as well as yours. She stopped abruptly, and looked in a flower-shop window. She hung about his chair, followed him to the door, touched his sleeve timidly, all the while striving to pronounce the words which refused to rise to her tongue. The beautiful city that she had been awed by and even grown to love had been abandoned. I wanted the magic of love. But he is kind of cute.
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