If you were a poet in need of rhymes, you had only to turn to a certain page. He told her something about music, the great world outside. Somehow to-night—I don’t know. Hurrying down the Haymarket, he was arrested by a crowd who were collected round a street-singer. A bobbing lantern, crossing the bridge—for she had not drawn the curtain—attracted her attention. I have always had a secret crush on him, to be honest with you. gutenberg. Probably she mistook you; probably she thought you cared. I'm sorry.
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