They were both conscious, however, that something had intervened between them. Her eyes glistened in the darkness—for light was only admitted through a small grated window—like flames, and, as she fixed them on him, their glances seemed to penetrate his very soul. You may perceive harmony, proportion, rhythm, intensely. But what did the occupant of the box care? The laugh was always with the dead: they were out of the muddle. “Oh, damn!” he said. She dropped a flower—it’s in my pocket-book now.
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