I suppose you have come to see your granddaughter. Fell to sin, did Martha. She saw herself begin a slow, sinuous dance: and stop suddenly in the middle of a figure, conscious that the dance was not impromptu, her own, but native—the same dance she had quitted but a few minutes gone. . ’ ‘Yes, but how are you going to find her?’ ‘I will ask—’ She broke off. These petals! I’ve been wanting to cry all the evening, cry here on your shoulder for my petals. I loved her beyond anything in heaven or on earth—to idolatry.
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