“Does he ever ask about me?” She asked, feeling like a cuckolded old maid. His horse, which had apparently gone to sleep, preferred to remain where he was. No matter what the fire and force of his passion, it falters eventually, and forever after smoulders or goes out. And he began also at times to wake at night and think about her. “Forgive me,” he decided to say at last, and his voice had a little quiver of emotion, and he laid his hand on hers upon her knee.
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