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 those strange, unaccountable moments of elation, and release from fear, possessed her.

Queer about those moments, how they came on mysterious wings, soundless and unseen, and went likewise. Beauty in some form or other—a sunset, music, the first spring morning—would bring them to her. Or sharp physical sensations sometimes—fifty miles an hour in an open automobile with the wind tearing at her; or the intense heat of burning logs; or the intense cold of a sudden plunge into icy water. And always lately at those high ecstatic moments of hers she said the same thing to herself. She said it now. 'I'm going to win! I'm going to get over Felix Nawn!' And she gazed straight up into the dazzling shaft of light, and began to sing.