“No Christmas dinner,” she said, “or anything nice! One doesn’t even know what you are doing. But if she smiled at all it was with her eyes. Our ideal had fallen. Here was an appalling fact: all her previous loneliness had been trifling beside that which now encompassed her and would for years to come. I want you to be my wife. I forget. But what are you doing here?” “Old Père Runeval met me on your doorstep, and he would not let me go.
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