It was cramped even at the end of the passage. “Not at all. It seemed to him that a sort of mist had risen up between them. You are your own Heaven and your own Hell, Lucy. ’ The expression on Emile Gosse’s face was vicious under the smile. The real tragedy—which he sensed and toward which he was always reaching—eluded all his verbal skill. And yet, at the end of this prayer a subconscious thought broke through to consciousness.
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