But he was destined to have every tide of feeling awakened—every wound opened. She did not twitch. In one angle of the room stood a disused fire-place, with a rusty grate and broken chimney-piece; in the other there was a sort of box, contrived between the wall and the boards, that looked like an apology for a cupboard. He sees men all defiled by coarse thoughts, coarse ways of living cruelties. You want industry—you want steadiness. I thought that you loved Paris and your work so much.
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