He pictured himself visiting the girl in this shabby little home of her aunt’s—she had told him that it was shabby—and he recalled that delicious little smile with which she would surely greet him, a smile which seemed to be a matter of the eyes as well as the lips. I’ve had my time and lost my chances. The acid of this incertitude had disintegrated his nerve; and in Canton had come the smash. She went down, feeling rather than seeing the way.
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