“Please forgive me—for one moment,” she sobbed. ‘You don’t know the whole, child. I'll leave these out, and to-morrow you can read them through. I’m so glad you’re not angry. And how can I get into one brief letter the complex accumulated desires of what is now, I find on reference to my diary, nearly sixteen months of letting my mind run on you— ever since that jolly party at Surbiton, where we raced and beat the other boat.
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