“Sure, but it’s not like you’re married, you know. "This locket," he said, taking a little ornament attached to a black ribband from his breast, and giving it her,—"do you remember it?" "I do—I do!" cried Winifred. From where had he come, and why? An author! To her he would be no less interesting because he was unsuccessful. She found herself mildly entertained by staring at the houses through the rain as she walked home, all cast in a gray blurry film noir gauze of rain. " "Good enough for me. "Adieu, my worthy uncle. "You are an angel," she cried, with a look beaming with delight.
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