She returned home through a world that was as roseate as it had been gray overnight. You will torture yourself and torture her all through life; but in the end she will pour the wine of her faith into a sound chalice. That’s why we are here. During all their long comradeship he had never so much as ventured to hold her fingers. But if I were dying of thirst, in a desert, I would not accept a cup of water at her hands. E. .
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