” Anna looked for a moment steadily at her sister, whose face was still averted. ‘You said she was beautiful. ” She rested the firing end of the cannon against her own temple. Buried under various ancestral sixteenths, smothered under modern thought, liberty of action and bewildering variety of flesh-pots, it was still alive to the extent that it needed only his present state to resuscitate it in all its peculiar force. The soil was identical, the climate; still, they would not bear the Olympian fruit, with its purple-lined jacket and its snow-white pulp.
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