"It is too late. But a woman’s life is all chance. . She liked the high, easy swing of the thing over its big wheels, the quick clatter-patter of the horse, the passage of the teeming streets. The Night-Cellar XVIII. If my Mom found out, she’d kill me. He laid down the knife, and fixed a searching and distrustful gaze upon the writer, who continued his task, unconscious of anything having happened.
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