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Her hand grasped it firmly, and she pushed herself forward. But in its stead—toward morning—there appeared another idea which appealed to him as sublime, appealed to the primitive conscience, to his artistic sense of the drama, to the poet and the novelist in him. He advanced a step towards her. Mother and Son. When they reached her rooms she stepped lightly out upon the pavement. America, the land of rosy apples and snowstorms, beckoned, and she wanted to fly thitherward. Her sadness was manageable only because she was so familiar with its phases, because she could observe its moods remotely, like an astronomer studying the moon.
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This video was uploaded to waterscolumns.info on 11-07-2024 13:18:03
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