" "May I trust you?" cried Thames, eagerly. ” She played with her hair. The terror faded from her eyes. Something or other—she did not catch what—he was damned if he could stand. She could feel her body rebel against her actions, convulsing, so she forced herself to think of her mother in Heaven, her mother's beautiful face, the sun dancing across the rivers of her home. It dealt from floor to ceiling and end to end with the Theory of the Forms of Life; the very duster by the blackboard was there to do its share in that work, the very washers in the taps; the room was more simply concentrated in aim even than a church.
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