155 The ringing doorbell jarred her from her stupor. " "What ho! Blueskin!" shouted Jack. A mate? A brother-lover to tromp about the world with? “I cannot. Gianfrancesco had told her about it, how he had played in it as a child with his brothers. Through all he said ran one quality that pleased her—the quality of a man who feels that things can be done, that one need not wait for the world to push one before one moved. I’ve paid for you and helped you, and I’m going to conquer you somehow—if I have to break you to do it. The hymnal lyrics had never stirred her; she had memorized and sung them parrotwise. It dealt from floor to ceiling and end to end with the Theory of the Forms of Life; the very duster by the blackboard was there to do its share in that work, the very washers in the taps; the room was more simply concentrated in aim even than a church.
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