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"It's a man's face, no wohed with a pouf! of laughter

"You hate to think he put his wife in your cathedral, don't

you?" she hed with ot free from the cathedral, she had even destroyed

the passion he had She was glad He was bitterly angry Strive

as he would, he could not keep the cathedral wonderful to him

He was disillusioned That which had been his absolute,

containing all heaven and earth, was become to him as to her, a

shapely heap of dead matter--but dead, dead

His mouth was full of ash, his soul was furious He hated her

for having destroyed another of his vital illusions Soon he

would be stark, stark, without one place wherein to stand,

without one belief in which to rest

Yet somewhere in him he responded more deeply to the sly

little face that knew better, than he had done before to the

perfect surge of his cathedral

Nevertheless for the ti his soul retched and

ho him

from his beloved realities He wanted his cathedral; he wanted

to satisfy his blind passion And he could not any ain, both of them altered She had some new

reverence for that which he wanted, he felt that his cathedrals

would never again be to hiht the under the