I believe that the common report was that you and your sister had come to Paris to study painting. As she went on, the story began to sound more and more like a recitation. He drew a little sigh of relief. " "And by whom were they both destroyed?" demanded his sister, raising herself by a painful effort, and regarding him with a searching glance. I take the life out of men. A certain irritation crept into his manner as he did so. She was trying by some wonderful, secret, and motionless gymnastics to restrain her tears. Yet even now there were so many things untouched, so much to be learned. That is what terrified her: the consciousness that nothing in her life would be continuous, that she would no sooner form friendships (like the present) than relentless fate would thrust her into a new circle. .
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