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He wrote poems to her beauty that he recited from a seemingly infinite memory. Wood, in indignant surprise. The Widow and her Child II. Then she looked at her aunt, and traced with a curious eye the careful arrangement of her hair, her sharp nose, the little drooping lines of mouth and chin and cheek. ’ ‘What, a common soldier?’ ‘He was not a common soldier. ’ ‘I thought so,’ Gerald said with satisfaction. “Why not?” “Because you are mine.
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