That teardrop was very
precious to her. It seemed she could work years on just the memory of it.
So there were many reasons why she felt like working this morning. All
the loving and the living and the dreaming and the thinking and the
working of a lifetime! Karl had understood. Her dream time! She loved
that way of putting it. Beautiful days to be cherished forever! How rich
she was in the things she had known! How unstinted love had been with
her! She wanted now to give with that same largeness, that same
overwhelming richness, with which she had received. Enthusiasm and desire
and joy settled to fixed purpose. She began upon actual work.
She kept at it until late in the afternoon. She had never had such a day,
and the great thing about it was that it seemed a mere beginning, just an
opening up. A new day had dawned; a day which meant, not the death of the
dream days, but their reincarnation into life. Those hours when she sat
idly beneath blue skies, looking dreamily out upon beautiful vistas it
seemed she should have been painting--how well, after all, they had done
their work! Dreams which she had not understood were making themselves
plain to her now.
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