While there's life there's hope. “One has to be so careful of one’s friends and acquaintances,” he remarked, by way of transition. Nevertheless there came a residuum of expostulations. It belonged to his father, and was worn by him on the night he was murdered. His new wife’s face was sweet and angelic with hair the color of flax, her belly already visibly large beneath a roe skin pelt. Old thoughts, old feelings, old faces, and old scenes have returned to me, and I have fancied myself happy,—as happy as I am now. He was a man who in all things classified without nuance, and for him there were in the matter of age just two feminine classes and no more—girls and women. At the back of the house, on a bank, rose an old-fashioned terrace-garden, full of apple-trees and other fruittrees in blossom, and lively with the delicious verdure of early spring.
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