She was as pale as death, but she seemed to have lost the power of movement. 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. I’ve been thinking, you know—I’m not sure that primarily the perception of beauty isn’t just intensity of feeling free from pain; intensity of perception without any tissue destruction. How different were his present feelings compared with those he had experienced on quitting it. His shoulders were bent, his face was furrowed with wrinkles.
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