"A mother's prayers—a mother's blessings," she cried, with the fervour almost of inspiration, "will avail against a fiend's malice. “Do you remember the mountains? Do you remember how we loved one another? How intensely we loved one another! Do you remember the light on things and the glory of things? I’m greedy, I’m greedy! I want children like the mountains and life like the sky. I’ve been on the watch for you. You are an artist by the Divine right of birth, but whatever form of expression may come to you at some time it will not be painting.
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