In the discussion there was the oddest mixture of things that were personal and petty with an idealist devotion that was fine beyond dispute. Everywhere I went and rapped at a door I found behind it another dreadful dingy woman—another fallen queen, I suppose— dingier than the last, dirty, you know, in grain. She patted John's head with her palm, its surface appealingly fuzzy. —'It's all up with us,' says he; 'they've taken away our charter.
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