The dream flowers and is harvested, and we are left by the wayside, having served our singular purpose in the scheme of progress: as the orange is tossed aside when sucked of its ruddy juice. She took up a book and threw it down again. I wonder,” he added, after a moment’s pause, “whether you ever realize how young you are. “You can keep him at arm’s length. But if she smiled at all it was with her eyes. “Just leave them with me for now, Clotilde.
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