She was quivering with the sense of Capes at her side and glowing with heroic love; it seemed to her that if they put their hands jointly against the Alps and pushed they would be able to push them aside. “She must go her own way. “You’ve grown out of them. Blotted out—Love! With infinite care, through nearly a thousand pages, her father had obliterated the word Love. Twice she smiled, but not unkindly.
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