His aunt, here at McClintock's? It was unbelievable. “You see, it comes after all,” she continued, “from certain original convictions which have become my religion. He could not pull her soul apart now to satisfy that queer absorbing, delving thing which was his literary curiosity; he had put her outside that circle. "I knew his poor mother, and for her sake I'll not see this done," cried John Dump. ’ He sighed. The horror of those few minutes was still with her. The little streaks upon the germinating area of an egg, the nervous movements of an impatient horse, the trick of a calculating boy, the senses of a fish, the fungus at the root of a garden flower, and the slime upon a sea-wet rock—ten thousand such things bear their witness and are illuminated. She fidgeted and looked away.
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