“Why would she do that? Why does she care? That’s a waste of her time. Sepulchre's church, where, in compliance with an old custom, it halted. How could you draw the curtain aside which hides the great and holy places of life—you, who have never loved?” “You have become French to the core,” she murmured. Bullding repeated, rather struck with the phrase. ’ Miss Froxfield regarded him in some interest. She even thought that perhaps she might come to love him, in spite of that faint indefinable flavor of absurdity that pervaded his courtly bearing. Here you are, young, sound, with a heart that will recover in no time, provided you keep liquor out of it. ‘The fact of it is,’ I said, ‘I’m the new playwright, Thomas More.
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