The others hurried to the window. We have only those phantoms called memories, which are the husks of dreams. And ever after it struck him that her backward smile as she disappeared was charged with some special significance. There’s nothing happened at all!” She didn’t mean, he concluded, to give him any more trouble ever, and he was free to begin a fresh chromatic novel—he had just finished the Blue Lagoon, which he thought very beautiful and tender and absolutely irrelevant to Morningside Park—or work in peace at his microtome without bothering about her in the least. CHAPTER IX.
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