His glance swept up again and found her staring at him with much of her usual defiance, if a touch less of her customary assurance. “I heard the clock strike as I crossed the square,” she answered. I couldn't accept anything from you. It remains a bizarre idea to me that Lucy Alberti could ever become so detailed or so real, but I’m certainly glad to have made her acquaintance. It is enough to make a man throw away canvas and brushes into the bottomless precipices, enough to make one weep with despair at his utter and absolute impotence.
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