"No, I don't. She met the keen grey eyes of a clean-shaven man, between forty and fifty, quietly dressed in professional attire. Over one of the pinnacles of the tower a speck of pallid light marked the position of the moon, then newly born and newly risen. “I haven’t seen the new Patience, dear,” she said. He taught her about crowds, which men were the evilest, how to locate and dispose society’s garbage. And Suzanne, even that she has behaved to me not at all like a mother, would also not have said. And thus it was that she came upon a book of Stevenson's verse—her first adventure into poetry.
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