No matter how much you tell me, you will always keep something back. The books slid from her arms and fluttered to the floor. She became aware that at regular intervals a light flashed upon her face and a bodiless eye regarded her, and this, as the night wore on, became a torment. Then she stepped back into the empty room and stood for a moment looking down upon the scattered fragments of her last canvas. She dared not say the word aloud, not even to herself. “I wish that I could forget it,” he said.
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