Little by little, she stopped hating him. He’s a prig to the finger-tips, is Sir John—doesn’t know what an artist is. For a time she could scarcely believe he was gone. ” “Perhaps,” she said, “I am superstitious. Athens was heaven on earth, and those who inhabited it knew it was so, and savored it. " "I see. It was so difficult to put precisely. "Were it not for that, he would indeed be a blessing and a comfort to me.
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