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was dead? But no; it couldn't be, since Fyne had said just before that

"there was really no one" to co Mrs Fyne's snappy "Practically" ible object of speculation

I wondered--and wondering I doubted--whether she really understood

herself the theory she had propounded to ht to be said--providing we kno to say it She

probably did not She was not intelligent enough for that She had no

knowledge of the world She had got hold of words as a child et

hold of some poisonous pills and play with them for "dear, tiny little

hter of Carleon Anthony and the

little Fyne of the Civil Service (that flower of civilization) were not

intelligent people They were couile But he had his solemnities and she had her reveries, her

lurid, violent, crude reveries And I thought with sonations, all these protests, revulsions of

feeling, pangs of suffering and of rage, expressed but the uneasiness of

sensual beings trying for their share in the joys of form, colour,

sensations--the only riches of our world of senses A poetbut he is bound to be various and full of wiles, ingenious

and irritable I reflected on the variety of ways the ingenuity of the

late bard of civilization would be able to invent for the torhted in practical

affairs, no vision of consequences would restrain him Yes The Fynes

were excellent people, but Mrs Fyne wasn't the daughter of a do There were no limits to her revolt But they were

excellent people It was clear that they irl whose position in the world seemed somewhat difficult, with

her face of a victination and the bizarre

status of orphan "to a certain extent"