‘Because I love you. In his muscular pudgy hand was a photograph, frayed at the corners, soiled from the contact of many hands: the portrait of a youth of eighteen. This service rendered, without waiting for any farther order, she withdrew. She gave tongue to the most urgent of her plaints. She had never before heard the noise of firecrackers, and in the beginning the sputtering racket caused her to wince. Aunt and niece regarded each other silently. I was the last on board.
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