The cultivated indifference, which was part of the armour of his little world fell away from him. They were things I had meant very much to talk to you about, so that I went home vexed and disappointed, and only relieved myself a little by writing a few verses. Do you recall the night she showed you the face in the locket? Do you remember how she said—'If only my mother had lived'? Did you ever see anything more tender or beautiful?" "I remember. She's not for pleasure, but for work. ‘Never mind that now.
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