He was always word-building, a metaphorist, lavish with singing adjectives; but often he built in confusion because it was difficult to describe something beautiful in a new yet simple way. All the sombre visions she had been pressing back, fighting out of her thoughts, swarmed over the barrier and crushed her. They’re just a joyous softening of the outline—more beautiful than perfection. She recalled him. In another minute, the tramp of horses' feet told that the perpetrators of the outrage had effected their escape. “Yeah, everybody knows him Mom.
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