He stood up and she ushered him out of the small room. It seemed to her the last desperate attack upon the universe that would not let her live as she desired to live, that penned her in and controlled her and directed her and disapproved of her, the same invincible wrappering, the same leaden tyranny of a universe that she had vowed to overcome after that memorable conflict with her father at Morningside Park. ‘Ain’t no call for you to go a-blaming of yourself. I am an independent sort of person,” she continued, “and I am engaged in an attempt to earn my own living. It doesn’t mean that these men deserve to die for whatever they have done, John. The queer phase of the dream was this, she was at no time a woman; she was symbolical of something, and he followed to learn what this something was. The evenings were dulcet and soft. Can’t face a scandal. Of course this thing was absolutely impossible. “I remember it very well indeed.
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