"What poet was that?" "Stevenson. He hadn't gambled or played the horses or hit the booze back there in little old New York…. Here it is. Every now and then her general presence became radiantly dazzling in his eyes; she would appear in the street coming toward him, a surprise, so fine and smiling and welcoming was she, so expanded and illuminated and living, in contrast with his mere expectation. I’ll wait my whole life!” He cried. "God in Heaven bless you, unhappy boy!" cried. But for perfect satisfaction, he must take a peek into the bedroom.
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