And through it all, like a golden thread on a piece of tapestry, weaving in and out of the patterns, the unspoken longing for love. She plucked at the knots of her racket and heard him to the end, then spoke in a restrained undertone. He knocked on the doorframe. But when she turned her thoughts to Morningside Park she perceived the tangled skein of life was now to be further complicated by his romantic importunity. "You cannot understand me, Madam; and it is well you cannot. "I give you all of my genius, and you say—'Get out!' I am some kind of a dog. Lucy savored the normalcy of the scene. None at all. Finally she decided that even for an hotel she must look round, and that meanwhile she would “book” her luggage at Waterloo. She possessed what he affected to despise, but secretly worshipped—the innate charm of breeding. “Take my advice,” he said hoarsely. ” They loitered under trees, they sat on mossy banks they gossiped on friendly benches, they came back to lunch at the “Star and Garter,” and talked their afternoon away in the garden that looks out upon the crescent of the river. Very fascinating, though, trying to analyse the impulse. She was dressed in a tattered black stuff gown, discoloured by various stains, and intended, it would seem, from the remnants of rusty crape with which it was here and there tricked out, to represent the garb of widowhood, and held in her arms a sleeping infant, swathed in the folds of a linsey-woolsey shawl. I don’t want to Bowdlerize Shakespeare.
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