She herself had cut the slender tie that had bound them. The recollection of the forlorn and loveless years—stirred into consciousness by the unexpected confrontation—bent her as the high wind bends the water-reed. Bring me clothing, I beg of you. The unfortunate carpenter struggled violently, but ineffectually. She had thought it a mirror, because it was her. Down under the incalculable selfishness of the penitent child there was the man's uneasy recollection of Judas.
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