“So Brendon and I,” he said, “have been troubled with the same fears. “Ye Gods!” she said at last. ” “I can’t work. After all, what did it matter?—it or anything else in the world? She was within reach of his arms, beautiful, compelling, herself as it seemed suddenly conscious of the light which was burning in his eyes. It probably had its own repulsive oubliette in the bottom, where tiny princesses could fall and break their necks. "The end is the most beautiful in English literature.
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