‘What started you off, you madman,’ Roding told him frankly, as he set about tying his handkerchief around the wound, ‘was being born at all. “Yes,” she answered, looking away. Everything in the world to live for!—fame that he could not reap, love that he must not take! What was all this pother about hell as a future state? By and by things began to stir on the table: little invisible things. “I might go home, I don’t know. ” He smiled, and she felt love for him in that moment as the smile lit up his ebony eyes, eyes whose blackness seemed unfathomable.
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