“Well, I don’t know,” she said thoughtfully. I guess. "I shall go back and finish my supper," said Mrs. I should as soon think of trusting a woman. She stuffed her violin in its case and rushed into the hallway towards John, who stood outside of 118 with his arms crossed. She had a feeling as though something had dropped from her eyes, as though she had just discovered herself for the first time—discovered herself as a sleepwalker might do, abruptly among dangers, hindrances, and perplexities, on the verge of a cardinal crisis. He hadn't gambled or played the horses or hit the booze back there in little old New York…. The unknown, previously so attractive, now presented another face—blank.
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