She wondered why he was so distinctive, so unlike other men, and it never occurred to her for some time that this might be because she was falling in love with him. It’s the poor dears who do, who know they will, know they can’t keep it up, who need to clutch at way-side flowers. At Morningside Park I feel as though all my growing up was presently to stop, as though I was being shut in from the light of life, and, as they say in botany, etiolated. CHAPTER XXVIII.
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