She kissed him with a closed mouth, not as recklessly as she was tempted to do. The joy that filled her veins with throbbing fire urged her to rise and go swinging and whirling and dipping. In a very definite sense we are in the wrong —hopelessly in the wrong. You are an artist by the Divine right of birth, but whatever form of expression may come to you at some time it will not be painting. Beyond was an avenue of tall poplars that rose like columns, disappearing into undulating hills that were black with sleeping houses and fertile soil.
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