I thought that you loved Paris and your work so much. He was a thin old man, a wreck in a ruined body, but nothing would induce him to stand in any other way than as stiffly erect as possible like the soldier he had always been, even though he was obliged to lean on his silver-handled cane to do so. She became angry with herself. But I am not worthy to be any man's wife —far less his wife. Maybe half a year, counting this summer.
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