You can do anything you please. The destroying angel hurried by, shrouded in his gloomiest apparel. “What on earth did you expect me to do, then?” he asked. Sometimes her straying mind would become astonishingly active—embroidering bright and decorative things that she could say to Capes; sometimes it passed into a state of passive acquiescence, into a radiant, formless, golden joy. Leonardo had told her it would happen, and warned her to make use of it.
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