And you have stolen my dagger. You are aware that Martin Chen has a crush on me; I think the whole school is painfully aware, but he’s harmless. "What is it?" "The night," she answered. Oh, I’ve loved love, dear! I’ve loved love and you, and the glory of you; and the great time is over, and I have to go carefully and bear children, and—take care of my hair—and when I am done with that I shall be an old woman. Constance Widgett’s abundant copper-red hair was bent down over some dimly remunerative work—stencilling in colors upon rough, white material—at a kitchen table she had dragged up-stairs for the purpose, while on her bed there was seated a slender lady of thirty or so in a dingy green dress, whom Constance had introduced with a wave of her hand as Miss Miniver. The locket contained the face of her mother—all the family album she had. Very slowly emerging out of a phase of stupefaction, these personal affairs and her personal problem resumed possession of her mind. Slash and cut as much as you please.
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