You see, the horse it does not belong to me, nor to the nuns. ‘That little kiss cost him his sanctuary, my girl, and don’t you forget it. He was so depressed and disheartened that he did not then believe he would ever write again. There’s no family uniting instinct, anyhow; it’s habit and sentiment and material convenience hold families together after adolescence. Or else—Else it will be impossible that I can be his friend. He’s out in Phoenix last I heard.
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