After partaking of some little refreshment, and changing her attire, Mrs. She got up, drew up her blind, and stared out of window at a dawn-cold vision of chimneys for a time, and then went and sat on the edge of her bed. Through all he said ran one quality that pleased her—the quality of a man who feels that things can be done, that one need not wait for the world to push one before one moved. Afterward she wanted to get her letter to her father back in order to read it over again, and, if it tallied with her general impression of it, re-write it. Gray and tranquil world! Amazing, passionless world! A world in which days without meaning, days in which “we don’t want things to happen” followed days without meaning—until the last thing happened, the ultimate, unavoidable, coarse, “disagreeable. He moaned. Among the commercial enticements McClintock found a real letter. She spoke slowly. K-kimble, sir,’ stammered the lad. . "You have both," replied Wood, fervently. ” She distantly remembered moments in childhood spent in phobic trance, when her father had told her God was punishing sinners in Hell.
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