She passed inside and upstairs without a word. On a stool eight feet high sat a small boy in a faded blue cotton, his face like that of young Buddha. Once in the room, the door locked, the sense of loneliness had dropped away from her as the mists used to drop away from the mountain in the morning. I will not be persecuted in this way by you. We must wave our hands at the blue hills far away there and go back to London and work.
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