There were mysterious sounds, all of them musical. “I do not know what you mean,” he said, “but if you are referring to any little coolness since our marriage let us never speak of it again. He took a handful of almonds and raisins that she held out to him—for both these young people had given up the practice of going out for luncheon—and kept her hand for a moment to kiss her finger-tips. F. Spurlock lay with his head on his arms, asleep.
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