I don’t love you. In a little while—to-morrow—all these tender, beautiful emotions will pass away, and I'll become what I was yesterday, a cynical, miserly old spinster. And when I ask you why it is you do so, you have no answer. The curve of his shoulders, the very angle of his feet, expressed relief at her apparent obedience. It is for that reason that this novel begins with her there, and neither earlier nor later, for it is the history of this crisis and its consequences that this novel has to tell.
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