2021-04-17 01:18:36

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ENGLISH Keeling hesitated: he wanted to say something to her which showed, however remotely, the gleam of his feelings, something which should let that spark of unspoken comprehension flash backwards and forwards again.Im a Pagan to-day, she said, and so it appears are you. Pan is sitting somewhere in this wood. Did you hear his flute?This is the proper door to use, when you come to see me, he said.

Yes. Personally I dont care two straws. But Charles does rather.

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I was never more so.

{132}Yes, Leonardo da Vinci....CHAPTER II

But since people are such fools, he said, does it matter?

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Will you see to that for me? he asked.She raised her eyes to his, quite in the secret garden manner, and she smiled not as she had smiled when she left him this morning.It had begun to snow thickly outside, and she stood for a minute or two before the fire, shaking from her cloak the frozen petals, which fizzed on the coals. Certainly she had felt a disconcertment at the moment of her entry and passage through the hall, had found fault with the ill luck that had caused her to meet the gorged galaxy from the dining-room on the one and only night when her brother had not been with her. But the encounter did not long trouble her, and like warmth coming over frozen limbs, the fact of being here alone gave her a thrill of pleasure that surprised her. She was in his secret garden all by herself, without Charles to intrude his presence, without even Keeling himself. She did not want him here now; she was surrounded with him, and presently she plunged like some ecstatic diver into the work she had come to do for him. Soon the buzz of mens conversation drifted past the door, prominent among which was Silverdales expressive and high-pitched voice, and without intention she found herself listening for Keelings. Then the murmur was cut off by the sound of a shutting door, and she went on with her work on the catalogue cards. Faint tinkles of a piano were heard as Alice performed several little pieces, faint{136} screams as Julia Fyson sang. Keeling was there, no doubt, and still she did not want him in his bodily presence. He was more completely with her in this room empty but for herself.

Order it for me, please. The man could draw, couldnt he? Look at the design of embroidery on the coat of that fellow kneeling there. Theres nothing messy about that. But it doesnt seem much of a poem as far as I can judge. Not my idea of poetry; theres more poetry in the prose of the Morte dArthur. Take a cigarette and make yourself comfortable.How do I guess it is warm or cold? I feel it. Tell me.

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Apr-17 01:18:36