Sometimes I tremble, Anna, to think how near I came to passing through life without a single glimpse, a moment’s revelation of this greatest and most awful of mysteries, the mystery of primaeval nature. And as a natural consequence, they don’t do so well, and they don’t get on—and so the world doesn’t pay them. Never sent for the shirt. C. She was quite oblivious to the sensation she had created. To-night the subtle suggestiveness of those few daring lines, fascinating in their very simplicity, the head thrown back, the half-closed eyes—the inner meaning of the great artist seemed to come to him with a rush.
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