He sent me flowers. "What's that?" ejaculated the ruffian, glancing uneasily towards the window. “I have given it up,” she answered. They went to the Zoological Gardens together one Saturday to see for themselves a point of morphological interest about the toucan’s bill—that friendly and entertaining bird—and they spent the rest of the afternoon walking about and elaborating in general terms this theme and the superiority of intellectual fellowship to all merely passionate relationships. I'm an old hand at such things.
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