I’ve a dread of love dropping its petals, becoming mean and ugly. Sir John felt that after all forty-five was not so very old. Dreams of adorable infants danced through her head as she cradled blankets in her arms. “That is as you will,” she said. ‘Then I am not mad in the least. He was a thin old man, a wreck in a ruined body, but nothing would induce him to stand in any other way than as stiffly erect as possible like the soldier he had always been, even though he was obliged to lean on his silver-handled cane to do so. " In spite of her displeasure, Winifred could not help smiling at the absurdity of this address. There was a pint of champagne and a quart of mineral water (both taboo) at his elbow. The joy that filled her veins with throbbing fire urged her to rise and go swinging and whirling and dipping.
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