Nor praise the deep vermilion in the rose,

she read, and so reading she was ascending, she felt, on to the top, on to the summit.  How satisfying! How restful! All the odds and the ends of the day stuck to this magnet; her mind felt swept, felt clean.  And then there it was, suddenly entire shaped in her hands, beautiful and reasonable, clear and complete, the essence sucked out of life and held rounded here – the sonnet.

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