She had done much good in the past
four years; she had been, for the most part, high-minded, self-sacrificing,
indifferent to the petty things of life, even to discomfort, and it had
given her a sense of elevation--when she had had time to think about it. It
was only certain extraordinary circumstances that brought other qualities
as inherent as life itself surging to the top. It was demoralizing even to
fight them, for that involved recognition. Better that she protect herself
from their assaults. True, she was young, but she had had her fill of
drama. All her old cravings, never satisfied in the old days of peace
without and insurgence within, had been surfeited by this close personal
contact with the greatest drama in history.
Why return to Paris at all? Why not settle down here at once, live a life
of thought and study, and give abundant help where help was needed? There
were villages within a few miles where the inhabitants were living in the
ruins. (The Germans in their first retreat had been too hard pressed to
linger long enough to set fire to this large town and they had not been
able to reach it during their second drive.)
That had been a last flicker of romance at the embassy...a last resurgence
of the evil the war had done her, as she sat in her cold room...a last
blaze of sheer femininity when she discovered that Gora had come to Paris
in search of Gathbroke.
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