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Burnett, Frances Hodgson, 1849-1924

"The Head of the House of Coombe"


Whether a world formed without a necessity for the presence and
assistance of this psychological factor would have been a better
or a worse one, it is--by good fortune--not here imperative that
one should attempt to decide. What is--exists. None of us created
it. Each one will deal with the Impeller as he himself either
sanely or madly elects. He will also bear the consequences--and so
also may others.
Of this force the Head of the House of Coombe and his old friend
knew much and had often spoken to each other. They had both been
accustomed to recognizing its signs subtle or crude, and watching
their development. They had seen it in the eyes of creatures young
enough to be called boys and girls, they had heard it in musical
laughter and in silly giggles, they had seen it express itself in
tragedy and comedy and watched it end in union or in a nothingness
which melted away like a wisp of fog. But they knew it was a thing
omnipresent and that no one passed through life untouched by it
in some degree.
Years before this evening two children playing in a garden had
not know that the Power--the Thing--drew them with its greatest
strength because among myriads of atoms they two were created for
oneness. Enraptured and unaware they played together, their souls
and bodies drawn nearer each other every hour.
So it was that--without being portentous--one may say that when
an unusually beautiful and unusually well dressed and perfectly
fitted young man turned involuntarily in the particular London ball
room in which Mrs.


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