He was always drawing contrasts between a woman’s lot and a man’s, and treating her as a wonderful new departure in this comparison. These were less like streets than labyrinths, hewn through an eternal twilight. That is why I called myself Anna. I—I hurt myself. Then, if you are bad to me, I can more easily blow off your head. "The Chevalier shall hear of this," whispered the woollen-draper.
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