The recollection of the forlorn and loveless years—stirred into consciousness by the unexpected confrontation—bent her as the high wind bends the water-reed. “I think,” he said, “I was a little too mystical about beauty the other day. " "At all events, let me send her away, my dear," supplicated the carpenter, anxious to avert the impending storm. The address was of course her destination, thousands of miles away, an infinitesimal spot in a terrifying space. ’ ‘But, Marthe, you do not imagine that I would have taken the veil like you, even if you have not told me.
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