"Now stand before me, Poll. Then he released her hand, and sat back a little, appearing to concentrate his thoughts on her face. “Do you remember the mountains? Do you remember how we loved one another? How intensely we loved one another! Do you remember the light on things and the glory of things? I’m greedy, I’m greedy! I want children like the mountains and life like the sky. Why should she trouble herself over that young fool, who was nothing to her; who, when he eventually sobered up, would not be able to recognize her, or if he did, as something phantasmagorical? Perhaps he should not apply the term "fool"; "unfortunate" might be the more accurate application. " "My son!" echoed the widow, trembling. . "I'll make sure work this time," he added, about to repeat the blow. “Thank you—and good-bye. " "Murdered!" ejaculated Winifred.
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