He was sitting back from the table now, with one arm over the back of his green chair and the other resting on the little table. " Something reached down into his heart and twisted it. “What nonsense is this? What raving! My dear child, you DO live, you DO exist! You have this home. She was to fall back amongst the ruck, a young woman of talent, content perhaps to earn a scanty living by painting Christmas cards, or teaching at a kindergarten.
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