Across the blackboard the colored chalks flew like flights of variously tinted rockets as diagram after diagram flickered into being. It was a copy of the pencil sketch taken of him nine years ago by Winifred, and awakened a thousand tender recollections. I overheard what Mr. Shari was snoring soundly. She was silent. When the disillusion comes, when the fairy story ends, if she is blessed with children, she doesn't mind. I will be up with my wife and daughter after lunch.
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