To the poor carpenter it seemed an endless distance. It’s—it’s a serious prohibition. It’s a sort of home-leaving instinct. Across that world was written in letters of light, “Endowment of Motherhood. Had she too been flying from something and had accepted this method of escape? But what frying-pan could be equal to this fire? All this led him back to the original circle. She had never been there before at that hour, in that light, and it seemed to her as if she came to it all for the first time.
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