Then she looked up the sweep of pine-trees to the towering sunlit cliffs and the high heaven above and then back to his face. The house was redolent with the smells of cinnamon baking and the stuffed turkey and marinated pork roast. " The prison bars of circumstance, they no longer encompassed her. I have always hated it. “You see, dear, one IS passionately anxious for something—what is it? One wants to be CLEAN.
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