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The call of youth to youth, and we name it love for want of something better: a glamorous, evanescent thing "like snow upon the desert's dusty face, lighting a little hour or two, was gone. The very carts and vans and cabs that Wellington Street poured out incessantly upon the bridge seemed ripe and good in her eyes. And it filled seven sheets of notepaper, each written only on one side. The white veil had fallen to the ground and Gerald retrieved it for her. Every word you utter puzzles me.
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