She mentioned, with familiar respect, Christ and Buddha and Shelley and Nietzsche and Plato. “Because you used to be my friend, Lucy, and now I don’t get to see you anymore unless I can get into your house. But that was soon put right, and she walked out into London with a peculiar exaltation of mind, an exaltation that partook of panic and defiance, but was chiefly a sense of vast unexampled release. You shall hear from me to-morrow.
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