If he could keep it up—style and calibre of imagination—within a year the name of Taber would become widely known. Life is a patchwork of impressions, of vanishing personalities. Some day I may forgive you; but not now. He seemed to be thinking hard. The affair passed at one leap from a spree to a nightmare of violence and disgust. What in the world was the wench up to now? For it must be she. She was not a reversion to type, which intimates the primordial; she suggested rather the incarnation of some goddess of the South Seas.
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