One thing—he could be thankful for that—the peak of his misfortunes had been reached; the world might come to an end now and not matter in the least. I still have a cross stitch she made for me of a little fairy sitting on a daffodil. She was slender, and sometimes she seemed tall, and walked and carried herself lightly and joyfully as one who commonly and habitually feels well, and sometimes she stooped a little and was preoccupied.
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