I hate myself!” She collapsed to the floor, sobbing. Then as she drew nearer paint showed upon her face, and a harsh purpose behind the quiet expression of her open countenance, and a sort of unreality in her splendor betrayed itself for which Ann Veronica could not recall the right word—a word, half understood, that lurked and hid in her mind, the word “meretricious. " There was a pause. Part of his head was swathed in linen bandages. Many things were only words, sounds; she could not construct these words and sounds into objects; or, if she did, invariably missed the mark. “I don’t want you to do it, to go on talking to me. " "Too proud, eh?" rejoined the prize-fighter.
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