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Updated: June 10, 2025
While she pondered over it, suddenly like the shining of a great light she understood the truth of "he that loseth his soul shall find it." The Christ-ideal of self-sacrifice meant the highest self-realization. "My cup runneth over, my cup runneth over," sang Lucine in her heart, as she read on and on. "I have been blind but now I see. It has been always true, always, always. My cup runneth over.
In reply to Laura's urgent summons to dress, she paused long enough to push back a lock that had fallen over her brow. "Don't bother me now. I'm just getting this right at last. Go away. I don't want any dinner." The pen began again on its busy scratching. "Lucine, you know the doctor warned you to be more regular about eating.
Laura half rose with a pleading smile toward Lucine who motioned her indignantly back to her seat. "Laura Wallace, stay right there. You promised to help me revise this essay. You know that I can't do it alone, because I haven't a particle of critical ability; and the editors say they cannot print it as it is now.
Lucine decided to wait till they arrived, so as to be certain that the precious essay reached their hands in safety. If she should drop it through the letter slit in the door, it might be overlooked. Curling up on a window ledge in a shadowy corner behind a wardrobe she waited while dreamily gazing at the moon which was sailing through clouds tossed by the still rollicking wind.
It was long past ten o'clock and the corridors stretched out their dusky deserted length from one dim gas-jet to another flickering in the shadows, when Lucine crept back to her room. Laura raised a wide-eyed anxious face from the white pillow. "Lucine, I couldn't sleep until I knew." The older girl sat down on the bed and drew the little figure close.
I shan't keep you long." At her imperious gesture Laura slid out of the room at an apologetic angle, her head twisted for a final shy glance back at Lucine who was apparently absorbed in her papers. When safely outside in the corridor Berta seized her about the waist and whirled her away from all possible earshot through cracks and transom.
The green baize doors swung open in her face, and Berta and Laura came loitering out, their arms around each other, their heads bent close together affectionately. "Lucine, oh, Lucine!" Laura at sight of her slipped away from Berta, "what is the matter? What has happened? Didn't they accept the essay?"
I myself ought to be called Prexie's Assistant, somewhat after the order of Miss Edgeworth's 'Parent's Assistant, you know, because my career has been such an awful warning to the undergraduate. But you're an example " "I am not a genius," Berta spoke with biting severity of accent; "Lucine Brett is a genius, and I despise her." "You used to despise her," put in Robbie Belle gently.
You toss aside my affairs at the slightest whim of an outsider, and then expect me to welcome the remnant of your mental powers. No, thank you." Laura bit her lip. "I'm sorry," she said, "you ought not to feel that way about it. I do truly wish to help you all I can. Please!" Lucine made a half-involuntary movement to gather up the sheets; then checked herself.
He said, 'Well, niece Laura, let me see your name printed plain in that list of editors, and then we'll decide about next year. He he's disappointed." "And yet," Berta spoke slowly, "you are going to help Lucine Brett with that essay. And you know how much my little sister cares about being at college with you." Laura gave a startled jump and turned to run. "Oh, Berta, I had forgotten.
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