He could not pull her soul apart now to satisfy that queer absorbing, delving thing which was his literary curiosity; he had put her outside that circle. Her grave fine face, her warm clear complexion, had already aroused his curiosity as he had gone to and fro in Morningside Park, and here suddenly he was near to her and talking freely and intimately. On some insane score she fancied she had to state her case in verse. His room was last at the end of one winding corner. She was very pale, but she reminded him more at that minute than at any time of “Alcide” as he had first known her. ’ ‘Dear me. "Si—lence!" vociferated Charcam, laying great emphasis on the last syllable. Anna hailed a bus. For I still love her mother. We’re hard stuff!” Then she went on: “To think that is my father! Oh, my dear! He stood over me like a cliff; the thought of him nearly turned me aside from everything we have done.
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