And she buried herself beneath the straw, which she tossed above her head with the wildest gestures. They proved all sorts of things perhaps, but they were thick, unequal, pitiful pieces of work. “I haven’t seen the new Patience, dear,” she said. “Take off your tunic. It was as if she had come upon the beautiful marble façade of a fairy palace, was invited to enter, and behind the door—nothing. She did not wince. At least until we graduate.
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