I never intended it to be anything but a short story, for I had never completed even the shortest of stories unless forced to in grammar school. She could almost smell her mother’s attar of white roses and lemon verbena with the memory of the story. In reply to this summons a horn was instantly blown at the corner of the street. "After all, he is my father, Hoddy; and I cursed him. For such of us as pretend to be wise—and we are but fools in a lesser degree—we know that humanity moves onward only by the impellant of fine dreams. 3. What Miss Miniver would have called the Higher Truth supervenes.
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