The real tragedy—which he sensed and toward which he was always reaching—eluded all his verbal skill. And if he didn’t, what was the good of seeing him? “I wish he was a woman,” she said, “then I could make him my friend. And they come here, and they look at our furniture to see if it is good; and they are not glad, it does not stir them, that at last, at last we can dare to have children. Place a pistol at my ear, and shoot me, if I've told you false.
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