They are things faint and slight in themselves, as physical facts, but they are like the detonator of a bomb: they let loose the explosive. "Who isn't it like?" he asked, endeavouring to gain possession of the drawing, which, af the sound of his footstep, she crushed between her fingers. It did not occur to her that save for some accidents of education and character they had souls like her own. The swelling in his limbs had also subsided.
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