"It's all over," groaned Wood, "and perhaps it's as well her senses are gone. Courtlaw sat with folded arms. Gerald swore. ‘You are an avid reader, I take it. Wanton! Had I been one, even God would have forgiven me, understanding. "Dead!" echoed the boy. Beauty doesn’t mean, never has meant, anything—anything at all but you. She called them back very soon. Capes was irritatingly judicial in the matter, neither absurdly against, in which case one might have smashed him, or hopelessly undecided, but tepidly sceptical. The charm of innocence breathes around her, as fragrance is diffused by the flower, sanctifying her lightest thought and action, and shielding her, like a spell, from the approach of evil.
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