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I went to the theatre that night. ” “How could you!” She exclaimed. She spent a very disagreeable afternoon and evening—it was raining fast outside, and she had very unwisely left her soundest pair of boots in the boothole of her father’s house in Morningside Park—thinking over the economic situation and planning a course of action. People sat in unusual pews, and a wide margin of hassocky emptiness intervened between the ceremony and the walls. “I have never yet met a man whose intellect I could respect. "Yon's a dear man," said McClintock. She felt herself falling, her bile rising in her 61 throat, the cold wind spinning around her like vertigo.
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