“And yet you still live, Butterfly. “Solitary walks?” “That’s the point of them. And yet, as she rose slowly to her feet and stood looking at him with outstretched hands, a strange mixture of expressions shining in her wonderful eyes, he realized in some measure the strength of her determination, felt the utter impotence of anything which he could say to her. His eyes closed. Occasionally he relit his pipe. “I don’t mean simply intensity of sensation. I'll bet you haven't given her a bucket of paint in three years.
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