I understand. All she needed to do was to have a body. He stood upon the threshold, dangling his eye-glasses in his fingers, stolid, imperturbable, mildly interrogative. "You needn't go far to do that," returned Quilt; "there he stands. "Nobody composes any more, nobody paints, nobody writes—I mean, on a par with what we've just heard. And she did not merely affect to be driven—she felt driven.
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