It was time to leave America. The coffin was lowered into the grave, and the mourners departed. “This stirs one. So completely! The oddest fitness! What is it made of? Texture of skin and texture of mind? Complexion and voice. “It is a night of endings,” she murmured to herself. You have converted me to—Lester Ward! You are my dear friend, you are a slip of a girl, but there are moments when my head has been on your breast, when your heart has been beating close to my ears, when I have known you for the goddess, when I have wished myself your slave, when I have wished that you could kill me for the joy of being killed by you. ‘How is this? Proo-den-ss. It always comes out sooner or later.
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