“Dear friend,” she said, “do you not think that you are breaking an unspoken compact? I am very sorry. By the intense look of him, she guessed that she had just encountered for the first time the boy genius Martin Chen. The door into the passage offered itself with an irresistible invitation—the one alternative to a public, inexplicable passion of weeping. She could not make up her mind which was the finer, more elemental thing, which gave its values to the other.
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