Many things were only words, sounds; she could not construct these words and sounds into objects; or, if she did, invariably missed the mark. " Her son complied, and sat down upon the patch-work coverlet beside her. “A very clear statement, madam,” he said. It reminded her viscerally of her subhuman status, stripped away of the pretenses of art, intellect, and nicety. Single pearls— Lord knows where they come from!—are always turning up, some of them of fine lustre; but I never set eyes on them.
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