Was that it? Had she clothed this unhappy young man with glamour? Or was it because he was so alone? She could not get through the husks to the kernel of what really actuated her. The terrific mental tension of the past few months —that had held his bodily nourishment in a kind of strangulation—became as a dream; and now his vitals responded rapidly to food and air. While he was stirring his tea, she ran and fetched the comb. "What poet was that?" "Stevenson. But shortly this movement ceased.
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