He had this thing for his twin daughters. We are the species, and maternity is our game; that’s all right, but nobody wants that admitted for fear we should all catch fire, and set about fulfilling the purpose of our beings without waiting for further explanations. “Won’t you sit down,” she said, “and tell me what you want to say?” Her voice was flat and faint. Wood, reproachfully, as they returned to the parlour. “I love this warm end of summer more than words can tell,” he said. The first of these, whom he addressed as Mr. The walls rocked, the footrail of the bed wavered, and the girl's head had the nebulosity of a composite photograph.
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