Sadly, the Christmas break came to an end. CHAPTER VIII. "Nobody composes any more, nobody paints, nobody writes—I mean, on a par with what we've just heard. “Delusion!” “You can call it what you like,” she said. Sheppard, returning his embrace with all a parent's tenderness. “Quite on my own,” she said. It seemed as if all the precautions previously taken were here accumulated. . It was maddening to be made to feel that he was in any way the inferior of this cool, self-possessed young woman, whose eyes seemed for a moment to scintillate with scorn.
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