‘You can’t prove nothing. But that other world, in spite of her resolute exclusion of it, was always looking round corners and peeping through chinks and crannies, and rustling and raiding into the order in which she chose to live, shining out of pictures at her, echoing in lyrics and music; it invaded her dreams, it wrote up broken and enigmatical sentences upon the passage walls of her mind. Sir John felt that after all forty-five was not so very old. “You are neither of you in the least like the ordinary boarding-house young man. On a stool eight feet high sat a small boy in a faded blue cotton, his face like that of young Buddha.
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