" On a shelf was placed a row of paint-jars; the contents of which had been daubed in rainbow streaks upon the adjacent closet and window sill. He saw rifts in clouds—sunshine. The word handsome was a little beyond her grasp. You must forgive the poet’s license I take. A fire enveloped her, a fire which was strangely healing, filling her heart with warmth, blotting out the menace of the world. Spurling. ” “That is another French custom,” he remarked, “which is not so agreeable. As he proceeded, other painful reminiscences were aroused.
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