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CHAPTER XXXI. There it was—to be borrowed. She yielded it without protest, as though unconsciously. Jolly hard life for a girl, getting a living. Her mother was a goddess to her all through her youth, the mysterious ruler of all things beautiful and wonderful and lunar, her eyes that glinted spectral blue, as if she had the knowledge and the magic to raise the very dead. For nothing will ever convince me that it is not the man’s share in life to shield, to protect, to lead and toil and watch and battle with the world at large.
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