See!" she added, tearing the rag from her head,—"I had beautiful black hair once. Trees were torn up by the roots; many houses were levelled to the ground; others were unroofed; the leads on the churches were ripped off, and "shrivelled up like scrolls of parchment. Will you marry me?” Anna looked at him in blank amazement. Gradually McClintock shifted the burden to Spurlock's shoulders and retired among his books and music rolls. She was aware of it now as if it were a voice shouting outside a house, shouting passionate verities in a hot sunlight, a voice that cries while people talk insincerely in a darkened room and pretend not to hear. She was clear there were no other minds like them in all the world.
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