The feathery-white moon never let the sky grow dark; all night the
chestnut blossoms were white in the green,
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the meadows. Neither to Tartary nor to Arabia went the wind of the
Cambridge courts, but lapsed dreamily in the midst of grey-blue clouds
over the roofs of Newnham. There, in the garden, if she needed space to
wander, she might find it among the trees; and as none but women's faces
could meet her face,
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into rooms where at that hour, blank, featureless, eyelids white over
eyes, ringless hands extended upon sheets, slept innumerable women. But
here and there a light still burned.