He’s riding down the drive. If she had any idea at all, it was something she dimly recalled from her books: something celestially beautiful, with a happy ending. "My sight is failing me. Rain started to pummel the roof of the pavilion, which coalesced into sheets and rumbled to the cement below. The fates are never so kind to me. Rousing himself, he went to the door. Here, where every element of her surroundings was tawdry and commonplace, and before this young man of vulgar origin and appearance, it was striking.
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