She saw her life before her robbed of all generous illusions, the wrappered life unwrappered forever, vistas of dull responses, crises of makebelieve, years of exacting mutual disregard in a misty garden of fine sentiments. The fire still burned brightly. He reached for her, and she struck savagely. Into this new world, vivid with colour, came Spurlock, receptively. She was beauty, the key of magic, the teacher of spells, the predictor of wars, and the gate of the future. Well, I don’t think that’s fair. F.
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