He hadn't gambled or played the horses or hit the booze back there in little old New York…. She twisted to meet him and folded into his embrace. I should lose every scrap of independence—even my self-respect. Lonesomeness isn't my worry. It's your eagerness that bothers me. He was twenty-nine at the time, practically an old man. “The thing I feel most disposed to say, Miss Stanley,” he began at last, “is that this is very sudden.
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