She fell with a plop onto her rear end in the mud and sat dumbly like a statue, water eddying around her. " "Your prisoner!" echoed Jonathan, derisively. It’s not a bit of good pretending there’s any Higher Truth or wonderful principle in this business. He would never be able to compose upon it, but it would serve to produce the finished work. Celeste he knew. “If it will keep you busy,” he said, with a faintly ironical smile.
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