Like a river swollen by many currents, it gathered force from the various avenues that poured their streams into it. From this spot a road, more resembling the drive through a park than a public thoroughfare, led him gradually to the brow of Dollis Hill. My heart cannot take it. Jane was a smoldering auburn-haired Irish beauty who seldom spoke to anyone. A young man —almost a boy, slight, dark, and with his brother’s deep grey eyes—came across the room to her. She winced as he thrust the fact at her, was about to answer, and checked herself. He died in the war. I think that I have become a drug drinker. Or did he? Perhaps he had found another.
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