“I wonder,” she said, “why one writes him sentences like that? It’ll have to go,” she decided, “I’ve written too many already. That, Sir, is what I call being a Good Samaritan. "Enough," said the widow, gratefully. And thus it was that she came upon a book of Stevenson's verse—her first adventure into poetry. A vast indifference settled down upon him. When my father died, and we were left alone in Jersey, I was quite a long time deciding whether I would go in for singing professionally or try painting. You don't want people to snub you later. Sweatshirts and sweatpants were in for a while but they’re out now. The crowning aspect of the incident, for her mind, was the discovery that he and her indiscretion with him no longer mattered very much. ’ ‘Of course she could not have known to whom they belonged.
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