“Annabel,” she said slowly, “if I fight this thing out myself, can I trust you that it will not be a vain sacrifice? After what you have said it is useless for us to play with words. “Lucy, where is your callous? All violinists have calluses on their necks and hands from playing. He was conscious of a peculiar pleasure in sitting there and thinking of those few hours which already were becoming to assume a definite importance in his mind—a place curiously apart from those dry-as-dust images which had become the gods of his prosaic life. ” Lucy replied. “You might have given me a chance, anyway. " "If he had only been my father!—McClintock!" "God didn't standardize human beings, Ruth; no grain of wheat is like another. "Why, how the devil did you happen to guess that?" cried the janizary.
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