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 cent, men and women who had died long ago, and yet still moved about, eating, talking.

Yet I feel alive, and I have been a happy woman, she thought, as she worked on, alone in the sleeping world. I have had so much happiness. Of course now I'm wretched for my poor Joe

But the feeling that flowed beneath the thought was happy. He is mine again, for me to comfort, for me to take care of.

If he could have Evelyn, if they could be together as they used to be, I would give anything, even if it meant never seeing him again. But under the unselfishness lay the ancient depths of self, happy because he needed her.

The bravest thing about Joe is that he never acts as if he were being brave, she told herself with her new clarity of vision. I wouldn't be big enough for that. I'd have to let people see how brave I was being. I'd have to be able to admire myself as the heroine of a tragedy, but Joe's big enough for grief. Joe is blessed among men.

Cocks crowed outside, and day began to dim the electric light. The studio was ready for him. She had been so interested she had never thought of the time. "I'm so tired—I'm so tired—" she murmured, leaning against the window, at peace.

The sky was flooded with living pink, each cloud was rimmed with glory. How she would love to make