” Miss Stanley turned to her. What is it?" "Is there anything I can do?" The idiocy of the question filled him with the craving of laughter. You would rather live like the scum of the earth, in that little brown hovel you call a house, in bourgeois paradise. But that other world, in spite of her resolute exclusion of it, was always looking round corners and peeping through chinks and crannies, and rustling and raiding into the order in which she chose to live, shining out of pictures at her, echoing in lyrics and music; it invaded her dreams, it wrote up broken and enigmatical sentences upon the passage walls of her mind. I swore to hang you two years ago, but I deferred my purpose.
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