The fire—if there was any in him—never made headway against this insistant demand to know the significance of these manifold inward agitations. ‘Why not a French flag?’ ‘Because I don’t believe that fool Pottiswick could tell French from Arabic, even if he heard it as he says he did—which I take leave to doubt. ’ Fury was in her face. There’s nothing happened at all!” She didn’t mean, he concluded, to give him any more trouble ever, and he was free to begin a fresh chromatic novel—he had just finished the Blue Lagoon, which he thought very beautiful and tender and absolutely irrelevant to Morningside Park—or work in peace at his microtome without bothering about her in the least. "So get up, and leave off whimpering. A fire enveloped her, a fire which was strangely healing, filling her heart with warmth, blotting out the menace of the world. She felt a new warmth in her blood, a strange sense of elation crept over her.
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