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“It is a secret mission,” she declared. CHAPTER XXIX. For hours after she had not been sensible to life, only to exquisite echoes. She had thought—What had she thought? That this dependence of women was but an illusion which needed only to be denied to vanish. “It’s glorious good!” “Suppose now—look at this long snow-slope and then that blue deep beyond —do you see that round pool of color in the ice—a thousand feet or more below? Yes? Well, think—we’ve got to go but ten steps and lie down and put our arms about each other. Each manuscript was like the other: the same lovely treatment of an unlovely subject. In that case I'll help you. “That is as you will,” she said. She could hardly speak to me; she insisted relentlessly upon a separation. “You’re kidding, right?” “Not kidding at all. I feel that I shall stifle unless I can do something—and do something soon. “You did a great job on my concerto today. Wild's intention, doubtless, was to use you as far as he found necessary, and then to sell you. On their left the river, with its gloomy pile of buildings on the opposite side, and a huge revolving advertisement throwing its strange reflection upon the black water. “Oh, I can’t thank you.
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