There was an air of repressed gaiety in her actions: the sense of freedom had returned; her heart was empty again. He was a civil servant of some standing, and after a previous conversation upon aesthetics of a sententious, nebulous, and sympathetic character, he had sent her a small volume, which he described as the fruits of his leisure and which was as a matter of fact rather carefully finished verse. Wood. Death belongs to God, young man.
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