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It was a large, littered, self-forgetful apartment, decorated with unframed charcoal sketches by various incipient masters; and an open bookcase, surmounted by plaster casts and the half of a human skull, displayed an odd miscellany of books—Shaw and Swinburne, Tom Jones, Fabian Essays, Pope and Dumas, cheek by jowl. "I am coming to the point, Joan. I mean that the point is that vividness of perception is the essential factor of beauty; but, of course, vividness may be created by a whisper. Now, you and I can gossip at a gate, and Honi soit qui mal y pense. Or he would find something—a wave in her hair, a little line in the contour of her brow or neck, that made an exquisite discovery. Don’t you care for Nigel at all?” Anna was silent for a moment or two. You don’t understand, Lucy, they just aren’t like that. ” It came upon him like a flash.
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