For she needed him. She must be beautiful, but beauty is only the beginning. At last some anodyne formed itself from these exercises, and, with eyelashes wet with such feeble tears as only three-o’clock-in-the-morning pathos can distil, she fell asleep. There was the cottage she had inhabited for so many years,—in those fields she had rambled,—at that church she had prayed. He jumped out of the car.
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