He said that for him beauty justified life, that he could not imagine a good action that was not a beautiful one nor any beautiful thing that could be altogether bad. She intercepted the glance the spinsters exchanged, and immediately sensed that she had said too much. "What's that?" asked Wild. She would never look squarely at these dream forms that mocked the social order in which she lived, never admit she listened to the soft whisperings in her ear. ‘That’s my pet name.
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