She had never felt so acutely the desire for free initiative, for a life unhampered by others. She realized more and more the quality of the brink upon which she stood—the dreadful readiness with which in certain moods she might plunge, the unmitigated wrongness and recklessness of such a self-abandonment. She drank her glass of wine, however, and clanked glasses good-naturedly with Mr. Miss Mary to the life. Unobserved, she knelt and kissed the threshold: for she knew what kisses were now.
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