Loving was self-forgetfulness, pure delighting in another human being. ‘The man’s gone,’ her old nurse told her, when she had recovered a little. "Here is my purse; and I trust you will let me know to whom I am indebted for this important service. McClintock wrote me about you; but all I needed was the sight of your face as it was a moment gone. White was scattered across the long stretches of pine trees and corn fields. You will have a bungalow to yourself," continued McClintock, "and your morning meal will be your own affair.
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