“Dear John,” she whispered. The great ordeal—that which she had most dreaded—had proved to be no ordeal at all. Nicholas had not dared to tell his father about the Valade girl. Between his lectures—and primarily he was an itinerant lecturer—he manoeuvred in vain to acquire some facts regarding the girl, who she was, whence she had come; but always she countered with: "What is that?" Guileless she might be; simple, never. The door was locked; but, with the bars of iron, it was speedily burst open. I mean that the point is that vividness of perception is the essential factor of beauty; but, of course, vividness may be created by a whisper. “Our interest lies in heading them off.
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