There was a bare chance that he had been mistaken. Then she stepped back into the empty room and stood for a moment looking down upon the scattered fragments of her last canvas. “You see,” he said, “from my point of view you’re grown up— you’re as old as all the goddesses and the contemporary of any man alive. He had not been successful as the world counted success; the fat bank-account, the filled waiting room of which he had once dreamed, had never materialized except in the smoke of his evening pipe. But I mustn't think of these things, or I shall grow mad.
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