What she had termed illuminative now appeared to be only another phase of the mystery which enveloped the child. Her hair had begun to grow back, it now swept to her shoulders. Servants were passing backwards and forwards with tea and chocolate. “My dear boy,” she exclaimed. “Agreed,” he said with queer exaltation, and his grip tightened on her hand. I might utter a million, and still I doubt if I could make you understand. “Here we are,” he said, “shining through each other like light through a stained-glass window.
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