It seemed to her the last desperate attack upon the universe that would not let her live as she desired to live, that penned her in and controlled her and directed her and disapproved of her, the same invincible wrappering, the same leaden tyranny of a universe that she had vowed to overcome after that memorable conflict with her father at Morningside Park. "It is her child!" shrieked Rowland, in a voice heard above the howling of the tempest, "risen from this roaring abyss to torment me. You will have lots of time on your hands. ” He left the room, and she stood motionless, with flaming cheeks, listening to his retreating footsteps. "Beat down their blades," cried the Master; "no bloodshed. “It would have been rash and unwise,” she said at the end of a meditation. There was more to be told, and this was as good a time as any.
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