On a stool eight feet high sat a small boy in a faded blue cotton, his face like that of young Buddha. She was dropped off at 2:30 at Whitefield Park, a huge extravagantly lit field in the new part of town. Now I am sorry to cross you in anything you have set your heart upon, but I regret to say—” “H’m,” he reflected, and crossed out the last four words. She rested for a half hour in heaven on earth, feeling herself drift in and out of sleep.
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