She was afraid people would follow her, she was afraid of the dark, open doorways she passed, and afraid of the blazes of light; she was afraid to be alone, and she knew not what it was she feared. To-night the subtle suggestiveness of those few daring lines, fascinating in their very simplicity, the head thrown back, the half-closed eyes—the inner meaning of the great artist seemed to come to him with a rush. She was not a Christian woman. “One moment, if you please!” She stopped short and looked round. “Julian, I don’t know how to put this. It was just a shabby, stupid, furtive business that began between us.
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