He was conscious of a peculiar pleasure in sitting there and thinking of those few hours which already were becoming to assume a definite importance in his mind—a place curiously apart from those dry-as-dust images which had become the gods of his prosaic life. He stopped short of a group of adolescent saplings and turned the ignition off. “Love should be enough, John, but it never is. Let us have no more of this humbug. He smiled inwardly. Darrell.
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