Across the blackboard the colored chalks flew like flights of variously tinted rockets as diagram after diagram flickered into being. It would be easy enough for me to write an eloquent letter about something else. " "Only three days," reiterated the widow, "three short short days,—and then all is over. "Oh, nothing—nothing," returned Mrs. ” “Fine. That is what terrified her: the consciousness that nothing in her life would be continuous, that she would no sooner form friendships (like the present) than relentless fate would thrust her into a new circle.
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