Far away there was the one woman for this boy of mine—some human being who would understand the dear fool better than all the rest of the world. "My good friend, Owen Wood,—Heaven preserve him!—is still living. They were ingenious disguises of gilt paper destructively gummed, it would seem, to Ann Veronicas’ best dancing-slippers. Stanley. She had once reconciled in her mind that she was happy as long as she had him.
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