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Certainly she had more good will than confidence toward the world, and the bravado of her smile could not conceal the shadow of an unrest that was almost discontent. The chief charm of the woman, as Everett had known her, lay in her superb figure and in her eyes, which possessed a warm, lifegiving quality like the sunlight; eyes which glowed with a sort of perpetual salutat to the world.
"You seem to me to be going to death," said she, in a low voice, "and I am the cause!" "To death!" said the priest, with his usual laugh. "Moriturus te salutat. Pardon! that's Latin. At any rate, we may as well shake hands over it." He held out his hand. She caught it in both of hers. "God protect you!" she murmured, in a low voice, with quivering lips. "I shall be in despair till you come back.
Your sweet pity has so softened me that I had almost spoke of love; and what have I to do with that? Love belongs to life; love is life; whilst I... Moriturus te salutat!" "Ah, no, no!" She was clinging to him again with shaking hands, her eyes wild. "It is too late," he answered her. "There is no bridge can span the pit I have dug myself. I must go down into it as cheerfully as God will let me."
The chief charm of the woman, as Everett had known her, lay in her superb figure and in her eyes, which possessed a warm, life-giving quality like the sunlight; eyes which glowed with a perpetual salutat to the world. Everett was still standing before the picture, his hands behind him and his head inclined, when he heard the door open. A tall woman advanced toward him, holding out her hand.
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