"There are two ways of spreading light: to be the candle or the mirror that reflects it."
"For hours she had lain in a kind of gentle torpor, not unlike that sweet lassitude which masters one in the hush of a midsummer noon, when the heat seems to have silenced the very birds and insects, and, lying sunk in the tasselled meadow grasses, one looks up through a level roofing of maple-leaves at the vast, shadowless, and unsuggestive blue."
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Source: Edith Wharton (2001). “Early Short Fiction”, p.50, Electric Book Company
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