"Drink this," cried Jonathan, handing her the cup. I am ready to wait for you, to wait your pleasure, to give all my life to winning it. It's mighty lonesome down there for a man bred to cities. " "They are useless," she returned. "Manuscripts! Why, this chap is a writer, or is trying to be. Think—think of that engagement!” Their talk had come to eloquent silences that contradicted all he had to say. The man who sat behind a pigeon-hole, and regulated the comings and goings, was for a moment absent. Her stomach growled, and she clutched at it in reaction, haphazardly observing that the gown had been changed to silk.
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