There were moments when she doubted whether the whole mass of movements and societies and gatherings and talks was not simply one coherent spectacle of failure protecting itself from abjection by the glamour of its own assertions. So, in broken, rather breathless phrases, he told his story; and when he had done, he laid his arms upon the table and bent his head to them. She stared down at them from a high window, peering down at their moonlit faces in the bed heavy with furs, the same bed where she had given birth to Gianfrancesco’s dead son. She heard this standard expression of a strong soul wrung with a critical coldness that astonished herself. "Silence!" returned Jackson, in a deep whisper; "and don't muddle your brains with any more of that Pharaoh.
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