I had dropped, with the joy of her reappearance, back into my chair--feeling then, and then only, a little faint; and she had pattered straight over to me, thrown herself upon my knee, given herself to be held with the flame of the candle full in the wonderful little face that was still flushed with sleep. Dishonored and tragic, she was all before me; but even as I fixed and, for memory, secured it, the awful image passed away. --As for that, Stephen said in polite parenthesis, we are all animals. I could easily catch hold Of her when she comes up to my step: nobody is looking.
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