The longing to talk to someone! But in the end she had gone to her room without giving in to the craving. Fresh flowers of loveliness have budded, expanded, died. Death belongs to God, young man. ‘On the contrary,’ Gerald argued, frowning. "You poor child!" said Prudence. Then, even as they stood there, the room was plunged into darkness. She turned her cheek to the cold sill; and by and by the sill grew warm and wet with tears.
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