Will you read to me? I am tired; and the sound of your voice makes me drowsy. ’ With an unexpected flush of pleasure, he recalled the girl’s antics. It’s a sort of blacklegging to want to have a life of one’s own. The call of youth to youth, and we name it love for want of something better: a glamorous, evanescent thing "like snow upon the desert's dusty face, lighting a little hour or two, was gone. ” He said.
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