She had one idea, she found, very clear in her mind—that she would get a Research Scholarship, and so contrive another year in the laboratory. The moon had arisen, and everything could be as plainly distinguished as during the day. Of this I'm certain, however, she was much too good for him, and was never meant to be a journeyman carpenter's wife, still less what is she now. In one hand she carried a long-stalked red rose, dripping with dew, in the other the post-bag.
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