“We are the music and you are the instrument,” she said; “we are verse and you are prose. Her father’s step quickened to a trot. "Leave us, Mrs. He took her fingers and lifted his eyes to hers. Surely she could ignore him. She was with these movements—akin to them, she felt it at times intensely—and yet something eluded her. “I don’t see what else I could have said,” he remarked.
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