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She remained for a few moments standing as though listening to his retreating footsteps. You have the look in your eyes to-night which you had that day, the look of a frightened child. "And who is this Van Gal—Gal—what's his outlandish name?" "Van Galgebrok," replied the widow. To-night the subtle suggestiveness of those few daring lines, fascinating in their very simplicity, the head thrown back, the half-closed eyes—the inner meaning of the great artist seemed to come to him with a rush. One day it was gone. Mirages, over which he was constantly throwing bridges which were wasted efforts, since invariably they spanned solid ground. I came to see you on my own account. There is something in prayer; not that there may be any noticeable result, any definite answer; but no human being can offer an honest prayer to God without gaining immeasurably in courage, in fortitude, in resignation, and that alone is worth the effort. "It reminds you of a red sea suddenly petrified. She could tell it was new territory for him and he might lose the nerve to take them off himself, without the aid of drink. She stared at his pleading face. Cheveney strolled up, a pipe in his mouth. Women to me are something so serene, so fine, so feminine, and politics are so dusty, so sordid, so wearisome and quarrelsome.
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