"Leave him to me," he said. She sat down awkwardly and helplessly on one of the little stools by her table and covered her face with her hands. He looked at her, his eyes filled with excited terror and astonishment at her move. Why shouldn’t we be martyrs? There’s nothing else for most of us, anyhow. She had been so busy with life that, for a vast gulf of time, as it seemed, she had given no thought to those ancient, imagined things of her childhood. Suppose our proper place is a shrine. "Oh!" she gasped.
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