Sheppard, with an agonized look at Wood. "Bring him back with you. Why, that boy could hide for thirty years—without the girl. Somehow her walk home with him had been transmogrified into a melodramatic rejection, a slamming. It was not a hopeful looking group. She read beautifully because the fixed form of the poem signified nothing. ‘Playing games to tease me, that’s all he can think of doing. You sent back my Christmas checks. “I suppose I shall have to write an answer. All at once it came to him what a fool he was to worry over this phase which was wholly suppositional.
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