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Chapter 19

           Hewouldalwaysbeworryingabouthisownbookswilltheyberead,aretheygood,whyaren’ttheybetter,whatdopeoplethinkofme?Notlikingtothinkofhimso,andwonderingiftheyhadguessedatdinnerwhyhesuddenlybecameirritablewhentheytalkedaboutfameandbookslasting,wonderingifthechildrenwerelaughingatthat,shetwitchedthestockingsout,andallthefinegravingscamedrawnwithsteelinstrumentsaboutherlipsandforehead,andshegrewstilllikeatreewhichhasbeentossingandquiveringandnow,whenthebreezefalls,settles,leafbyleaf,intoquiet.

           Itdidn’tmatter,anyofit,shethought.Agreatman,agreatbook,famewhocouldtell?Sheknewnothingaboutit.Butitwashiswaywithhim,histruthfulnessforinstanceatdinnershehadbeenthinkingquiteinstinctively,Ifonlyhewouldspeak!Shehadcompletetrustinhim.Anddismissingallthis,asonepassesindivingnowaweed,nowastraw,nowabubble,shefeltagain,sinkingdeeper,asshehadfeltinthehallwhentheothersweretalking,ThereissomethingIwantsomethingIhavecometoget,andshefelldeeperanddeeperwithoutknowingquitewhatitwas,withhereyesclosed.

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