He was Julian five years younger, the spitting image. They had been so considerate of the earth they had touched that they barely left a footprint. In a little while—to-morrow—all these tender, beautiful emotions will pass away, and I'll become what I was yesterday, a cynical, miserly old spinster. CHAPTER XI. She had found a couple of articles about him over the years, blurbs about the opening of a theater that mentioned him. "Close the wicket, Austin," vociferated Ireton, in an authoritative tone.
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