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14519She could not judge his mind indeed; but Nor was it intellect, exactly; it washis way with him; his loftiness; His truthfulness, His - & feelingrise up in her that same feeling which she had had at dinnerwhichthe brooding calm of asoul?riding the waves, which in a brooding calm,peace, & yet then somebody begins, the China rose is all abloom &buzzing with the yellow bee, come out & all the lives we everlived & all the lives to be, come out, come out - sheshe felt herselflike a leafblowing through ain at a windowtook looked over her knitting at the books on her little table, &took one, an anthology of poems, & opened it anywhere, laying iton her knee,And nNever reading at all, except in this way,she turned leaves,turning leaves, climbing from this to that, shehad not anysense of security whatever, or any knowledge even, butof names, but only how the that the lines about thesonnets of Shakespeare -felt it a great relief; & at the&alwaysstopping,interrupted,nightingales &?the crocusbeingin theshade,same time hadfor she loved to get at the repose of the words; &the soft flowers,theitscounterbalancing of this one - that she did feel, more & more.She [?] read some poetry every night or the Opium Eater.her world being overarched in the evenings, by by this strange poetry worldstrangeness;And she kept turning over the pages & knittingrhythmically, & looking now & then at her husband, who stilldid not want to be interrupted, for he was being led on, like a fool,towastehis time.mustHe had just to finish the scene in [?sand] Mucklebackit'scottage.That old They said nobody read it now. And there was nonastiness, no sex interest. But the life, the power - If they didn'tcar read it, the greater fools they. But & he could scarcely& he slapped his thigh. He felt his lips twitch.Well, we shall all be forgotten one of these days, he said aloud.mutteredshutting the book. rather flushed, rather excited. & ratherashamed of himself. Turning the page, but he did not mind.It was a splendid chapter; the humour was magnificent. Andif after all, one need not attend to the love making seriously -it was the old beggar & the old peasant wish wives; hefishcould not help mouthing the Scotch dialect to himself