. I’ve a dread of love dropping its petals, becoming mean and ugly. Fresh flowers of loveliness have budded, expanded, died. “We are, or rather we were, so much alike then that the portrait of either of us would have done for the other. Nor was this impression removed as he stole a glance at Mrs. It was hot and dry. Lord knew why he had any interest in an impertinent girl who would certainly have spit him with that dagger! He reached into his pocket and brought it out, examining it in the increasing light as he slowly made his way back up the terrace. Perhaps it was loneliness. [Illustration: Distinctive Pictures Corporation.
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