At the cost of quite a number of torn drafts she succeeded in evolving this: “DEAR MR. Every human being is a new thing, exists to do new things. On the floor, underneath the sixth row desks, was an ashtray with a small black dot of blood on its blunt round corner. ’ ‘Do you care to test that theory?’ Gerald suggested easily. And empty. Anyhow, ten minutes after I get to work I'll be rumpling it. What was she going to do? One main idea possessed her: she must get away from home, she must assert herself at once or perish.
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