Then she raised the glass nearer to her lips. It is magnificent indeed. “I must go. It is the bottom of the cup, where all the dregs appear to settle. It was the day I borrowed a pencil; the day we first spoke to one another. And in reality even that magic garden-close resolves itself into a villa at Morningside Park and my father being more and more cross and overbearing at meals—and a general feeling of insecurity and futility.
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