’ A laugh escaped her. Men fled from their tottering habitations, and returned to them scared by greater dangers. “I think,” he said, “I was a little too mystical about beauty the other day. Leastways, not on your own. She was aware of it now as if it were a voice shouting outside a house, shouting passionate verities in a hot sunlight, a voice that cries while people talk insincerely in a darkened room and pretend not to hear. Her mind turned to her own future, the endless trickle of years.
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