She felt pride sashay into her thoughts. Slowly and reluctantly she came to realize that Vivie Warren was what is called an “ideal. I call myself a man of the world, a man of many experiences, but I never knew what love meant—until I met your sister. She got up, drew up her blind, and stared out of window at a dawn-cold vision of chimneys for a time, and then went and sat on the edge of her bed. Even on cool days the gardens were colorful and bright, with orange trees emanating sweetness and bumblebees drunkenly weaving from flower to flower.
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