“It is like old times,” she said, “to hear these home truths. It’s a thing that’s happened to you. “You didn’t expect that I should kiss you?” “How was I to know that a man would—would think it was possible—when there was nothing—no love?” “How did I know there wasn’t love?” That silenced her for a moment. It may be treacherous, it may lay up a store of future woe; but it insures present happiness, and that is sufficient.
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