You never saw him before yesterday. His pulses beat fast as he walked, his feet fell lightly upon the pavement. “You will write to me, I am sure—and from the date of your letter I trust most earnestly that I may come back to my old place as “Your devoted friend, “WALTER BRENDON. Turning now, and running down the terrace. Half a minute, Vee. It’s odd how little I know of him, and of how he feels and what he feels.
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