Loving was self-forgetfulness, pure delighting in another human being. "Surely," he added, staring at Rowland, "either I'm greatly mistaken, or it is—" "You are not mistaken, Baptist," returned Rowland with a gesture of silence; "it is your old friend. She could not resist enduing persons she met with the noble attributes of the fictional characters. He gently took the roses from her and laid them on the pillow. "The manager says there is still some doubt.
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