Away up on the hillside was the little country railway station. A thing which had mystified her since childhood, a smouldering wonder why it should be, and until now she had never felt the urge to investigate. Nature is God, Anna, and the greatest artist of us all a pigmy. 1. You know they say, as, indeed, I have just quoted already, that all bad poetry is written in a state of emotion, but I have no doubt that this is true of bad offers of marriage. The young man's imagination suddenly pictured the man as a rock, loosed from its ancient bed, crumbling as it fell.
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