She had flung away from her father’s support with the finest assumption of personal independence. Why shouldn’t we be martyrs? There’s nothing else for most of us, anyhow. “I want you to kiss me,” she said. She remained for a few moments standing as though listening to his retreating footsteps. I'm burning up. She remained by the door until the walls of the city swallowed the bobbing lantern. I’ll show it to you later. America, the land of rosy apples and snowstorms, beckoned, and she wanted to fly thitherward.
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