He had promised her some books, for she had voiced her hunger for stories. I still have a cross stitch she made for me of a little fairy sitting on a daffodil. “I opened my eyes, and she was bending over my bedside. ” “But how?” “I poured him out some port wine, and I said—let me see—oh, ‘You are going to be a grandfather!’” “Yes. And he had good reason before long to congratulate himself on his forbearance. ” He turned to the waiter, who held a wine-card. But it sounds too real to be imagined.
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