" "Wretch!" cried Mrs. One thing—he could be thankful for that—the peak of his misfortunes had been reached; the world might come to an end now and not matter in the least. She tried to imagine herself “getting something,” to project herself as sitting down at a desk and writing, or as returning after her work to some pleasantly equipped and free and independent flat. " She opened the book which she had brought to the table. So it is that I do not do these things. Then she fell into a fever of remorse for the habit of bad language she had acquired. “Why, I do not know.
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