He remained talking with her however. It mattered not whether she flunked the year as she would soon be gone. Seven hundred forty-two dollars and eighty-one cents, the sum total of her money in the world that she hid in a filigreed cigar box shelved behind her schoolbooks. "Can't you guess?" returned Winifred, throwing her arms about her neck. “You love some one else?” he repeated. My mind is full of ideas and images that I have been cherishing and accumulating—dreams of travelling side by side, of lunching quietly together in some jolly restaurant, of moonlight and music and all that side of life, of seeing you dressed like a queen and shining in some brilliant throng—mine; of your looking at flowers in some old-world garden, our garden—there are splendid places to be got down in Surrey, and a little runabout motor is quite within my means. You are not my husband. She could not resist enduing persons she met with the noble attributes of the fictional characters. Think better of it. . Hey. Perhaps that was the reason why she enjoyed preparing suppers at the Becks.
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