. By and by—as the paroxysm subsided and he became motionless—she stole back to the bungalow to wait. I expect Mr. “Can’t you SEE how things are?” she said. The soil was identical, the climate; still, they would not bear the Olympian fruit, with its purple-lined jacket and its snow-white pulp. There was something indeed holding the whole species back from the imaginable largeness of life. I'm a graybeard, an old bachelor; so I am accorded certain privileges. But I believe that Mr.
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