At one moment, it seemed as if the flying bark was about to put to shore. But here the resemblance stopped. The little streaks upon the germinating area of an egg, the nervous movements of an impatient horse, the trick of a calculating boy, the senses of a fish, the fungus at the root of a garden flower, and the slime upon a sea-wet rock—ten thousand such things bear their witness and are illuminated. Most unsatisfactory. Then she stepped back into the empty room and stood for a moment looking down upon the scattered fragments of her last canvas.
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