The chromatic fiction with which he relieved his mind glanced but slightly at this aspect of life, and never with any quality of guidance. The trees were graceful and brown, arching and fanning their golden leaves as if to shower with coins the pink-gold sky. \"Oh my word, Mike. I was a novelty. She had thought—What had she thought? That this dependence of women was but an illusion which needed only to be denied to vanish. I loved her beyond anything in heaven or on earth—to idolatry.
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