Like little mice, stole in and out,,
I am sure at even this supreme moment it never enters Mona's brain that the man is actually making love to her. A deep pity for him fills her mind. He is unhappy, justly so, no doubt, but yet unhappy. A sure passport to her heart.,
So thinks Mona, and goes steadily on to the library, dreading nothing, and inexpressibly cheered by the thought that gloom at least does not await her there..
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