Cheveney walked away with a shrug of the shoulders. "I've seen him some years ago, I believe," answered Wood; "and, though he must be much changed by this time, I dare say I should know him again. The dream flowers and is harvested, and we are left by the wayside, having served our singular purpose in the scheme of progress: as the orange is tossed aside when sucked of its ruddy juice. ” She turned and looked at him. To return. “It’s either now or never,” she said to herself.
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