It was the day I borrowed a pencil; the day we first spoke to one another. If any of you—or all of you feel the same in six months’ time from to-day, will you come, if you care to, and see me then?” There was a brief silence. He had no ideas about daughters. He said nothing, even though it was not raining. It was not human and yet very human, a high pitched wail of hunger that rattled her skull. The latter haughtily returned his salutation, and flung himself, as if exhausted, into a chair. But she wished she could put the thing she had done in some way to them so that it would not hurt them so much as the truth would certainly do.
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