She had set out to get a beautiful life, a free, untrammelled life, self-development, without counting the cost either for herself or others. “I see nothing of my sister,” she said. I suppose I believe in God. "Nobody composes any more, nobody paints, nobody writes—I mean, on a par with what we've just heard. “Why will you not be sensible? Go back to your old life and your old friends, and forget all about Paris and this absurd delusion of yours.
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