“What is the good of pretending?” she said. She began by being interested in his demonstrations and his biological theory, then she was attracted by his character, and then, in a manner, she fell in love with his mind. The true creative mind is always returning to battle; defeats are only temporary setbacks. And for twelve years he has been so; until his long security, well-nigh obliterating remembrance of the deed, has bred almost a sense of innocence within his breast. Not these twenty year. One trouble, however, shot its slanting bolts athwart the shining warmth of that opening day and marred its perfection, and that was the thought of her father. She refused to sleep in the same room with him one night, kicking him in the shins. "In case he should consent—" "He never will," interrupted Winifred. He used to call it his fire-escape—ha! ha! I've often used the ladder for my own convenience, but I never expected to turn it to such good account. She realized in a moment what had happened. " "I am one-and-twenty," observed Jack.
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