“And yet you still live, Butterfly. Her fingers clutched the side of the door as though to steady herself. " "So have we all. The girl was like some north-country woodland pool, penetrated by a single shaft of sunlight—beautifully clear in one spot and mysteriously obscured elsewhere. ” “And what are you doing here?” the lady asked. His hand shook so violently that he dropped the handkerchief; and he let it lie on the floor because he dared not stoop. She had a bittersweet fragrance, like dusty books and honeysuckle. So these two young philosophers got along very well that day; and the succeeding days.
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