When I think of the love you give me—One ought to give you back love. Sometimes I think I’ll miss them and I start to cry, but I’m ready to have a life of my own. ” “I think,” Anna said, “that it was only his manner. But perhaps you don't know; there was nothing in the pockets. Husbands and wives, young lovers, and mothers with strollers thronged in the streets, all savoring the fine cool weather.
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