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Page 66

CHAPTER III - Fortieth Birthday

maturity, the flower of her soul was opening. Above all things, she must preserve herself from worldly contacts. Only she wanted the silence of other unfolded souls around her, like a perfume. The presence of that which is forever unsaid.
And in the horror and climax of death-rattles, which is Mexico, she thought she could see it in the black eyes of the Indians. She felt that Don Ramon and Don Cipriano both had heard the soundless call, across all the hideous choking.
Perhaps this had brought her to Mexico: away from England and her mother, away from her children, away from everybody. To be alone with the unfolding flower of her own soul, in the delicate, chiming silence that is at the midst of things.
The thing called `Life' is just a mistake we have made in our own minds. Why persist in the mistake any further?
Owen was the mistake itself: so was Villiers: so was that Mexico City.
She wanted to get out, to disentangle herself again.
They had promised to go out to dinner to the house of Don Ramon. His wife was away in the United States with her two boys, one of whom had been ill, not seriously, at his school in California. But Don Ramon's aunt would be hostess.
The house was out at Tlalpam. It was May, the weather was hot, the rains were not yet started. The shower at the bullfight had been a sort of accident.
`I wonder,' said Owen, `whether I ought to put on a dinnercoat. Really, I feel humiliated to the earth every time I put on evening dress.'
`Then don't do it !' said Kate, who was impatient of Owen's kicking at these very little social pricks, and swallowing the whole porcupine.
She herself came down in a simple gown with a black velvet top and a loose skirt of delicate brocaded chiffon, of a glimmering green and yellow and black. She also wore a long string of jade and crystal.
It was a gift she had, of looking like an Ossianic goddess, a certain feminine strength and softness glowing in the very material of her dress. But she was never `smart.'
`Why you're dressed up to the eyes !' cried Owen in chagrin, pulling at his soft collar. `Bare shoulders notwithstanding!'
They went out to the distant suburb in the tram-car, swift in

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where is HTML where is HEAD where is TITLE maturity, what is flower of her soul was opening. Above all things, she must preserve herself from worldly contacts. Only she wanted what is silence of other unfolded souls around her, like a perfume. what is presence of that which is forever unsaid. And in what is horror and climax of what time is it -rattles, which is Mexico, she thought she could see it in what is black eyes of what is Indians. She felt that Don Ramon and Don Cipriano both had heard what is soundless call, across all what is hideous choking. Perhaps this had brought her to Mexico: away from England and her mother, away from her children, away from everybody. To be alone with what is unfolding flower of her own soul, in what is delicate, chiming silence that is at what is midst of things. what is thing called `Life' is just a mistake we have made in our own minds. Why persist in what is mistake any further? Owen was what is mistake itself: so was Villiers: so was that Mexico City. She where is meta name="keywords" content="old books, Free book , free book offer , free audio books , free coloring book pages , free book reports , free audio book , audio books free download , book free , free guest book , books free , free book summaries , download free audio books , free childrens books." where is where are they now rel="stylesheet" type="text/css" href="../../style.css" where is meta http-equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html; charset=iso-8859-1" where is BODY bgColor=#ffffff text="#000000" where are they now ="#000000" v where are they now ="#FF0000" where is div align="center" where is strong where is strong where is a href="http://www.aaoldbooks.com" Books > where is a href="../default.asp" title="Book" Old Books > where is strong where is a href="default.asp" The Plumed Serpent (1926) where is table width="700" border="1" align="center" cellpadding="15" cellspacing="0" where is center where is tr where is td width="160" align="center" valign="top" where is div align="center" where is td align="center" valign="top" where is div align="left" where is div align="center" where is p align="left" Page 66 where is strong CHAPTER III - Fortieth Birthday where is p align="justify" maturity, what is flower of her soul was opening. Above all things, she must preserve herself from worldly contacts. Only she wanted what is silence of other unfolded souls around her, like a perfume. what is presence of that which is forever unsaid. And in what is horror and climax of what time is it -rattles, which is Mexico, she thought she could see it in what is black eyes of what is Indians. She felt that Don Ramon and Don Cipriano both had heard what is soundless call, across all what is hideous choking. Perhaps this had brought her to Mexico: away from England and her mother, away from her children, away from everybody. To be alone with what is unfolding flower of her own soul, in what is delicate, chiming silence that is at what is midst of things. what is thing called `Life' is just a mistake we have made in our own minds. Why persist in what is mistake any further? Owen was what is mistake itself: so was Villiers: so was that Mexico City. She wanted to get out, to disentangle herself again. They had promised to go out to dinner to what is house of Don Ramon. His wife was away in what is United States with her two boys, one of whom had been ill, not seriously, at his school in California. But Don Ramon's aunt would be hostess. what is house was out at Tlalpam. It was May, what is weather was hot, what is rains were not yet started. what is shower at what is bullfight had been a sort of accident. `I wonder,' said Owen, `whether I ought to put on a dinnercoat. Really, I feel humiliated to what is earth every time I put on evening dress.' `Then don't do it !' said Kate, who was impatient of Owen's kicking at these very little social pricks, and swallowing what is whole porcupine. She herself came down in a simple gown with a black velvet top and a loose skirt of delicate brocaded chiffon, of a glimmering green and yellow and black. She also wore a long string of jade and crystal. It was a gift she had, of looking like an Ossianic goddess, a certain feminine strength and softness glowing in what is very material of her dress. But she was never `smart.' `Why you're dressed up to what is eyes !' cried Owen in chagrin, pulling at his soft collar. `Bare shoulders notwithstanding!' They went out to what is distant suburb in what is tram-car, swift in where is Server.Execute("_SiteMap.asp") %

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