" "My God!" cried Trenchard, stunned by the intelligence, "I have killed her. This laughter released something that had been striving for expression—her own natural buoyancy. I'll not speak of Jack or Jonathan. Each one had been different from the others, each had had a quality all its own, a distinctive freshness, a distinctive beauty. Mr. Then she stepped back into the empty room and stood for a moment looking down upon the scattered fragments of her last canvas. She spoke with an entirely false note of cheerful offhandedness.
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