Whenever they stepped from the chairs, he stepped down. She could still remember herself at age five, staring knives and daggers at the men who came into the small yarn shop, under pretense of business but really just to leer. “I never planned it—And now I have begun—” She felt acutely that he was entitled to explanations, and as acutely that explanations were impossible that night. "Don't scourge me," she cried, trying to hide herself in the farthest corner of the cell. “And then they are swollen up and inflamed and drunken with matter.
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