She felt a lump rise in her throat, for she had come to love living in America. She moved towards it slowly and picked it up, holding it out in front of her whilst the familiar perfume seemed to assert itself with damning insistence. Sometimes the moon was totally eclipsed; at others, it shed a wan and ghastly glimmer over the masses rolling in the firmament. She mentioned, with familiar respect, Christ and Buddha and Shelley and Nietzsche and Plato.
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