” She replied, smiling awkwardly. You must think of this evening, John, sometimes—as a sort of atonement. She would write to Gerald. I don’t think you understand. She was quivering with the sense of Capes at her side and glowing with heroic love; it seemed to her that if they put their hands jointly against the Alps and pushed they would be able to push them aside. From the first there had always been between her and her listeners that electrical sympathy which only a certain order of genius seems able to create.
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