Ennison listened, and his eyes glowed. “The women are taking it up,” said Miss Miniver; “the women and the common people, all pressing forward, all roused. Even then it sent Spurlock spinning backward, to crash against the wall. Her sadness was manageable only because she was so familiar with its phases, because she could observe its moods remotely, like an astronomer studying the moon. He saw his father, calling to him from an icy white tunnel, beckoning to him. She sat on the edge of the bed —the wardress was too busy with the flood of arrivals that day to discover that she had it down—and her skin was shivering from the contact of these garments. She could still remember herself at age five, staring knives and daggers at the men who came into the small yarn shop, under pretense of business but really just to leer. As she did so the preparation-room door opened behind her. You could walk the city streets and with every blink you could take in a new sight of beauty so great that your heart would weep for it.
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