“Let’s go. He seemed to charge her with the ruin of their situation. . Love was joy, and joyous she was when alone. She was gone. ” “Our cases are scarcely similar,” Anna remarked. Blood dripped down one side of her forehead. Her mouth dry, she made her feet walk on, not daring to utter a word. She was vehemently impatient—she did not clearly know for what—to do, to be, to experience. But that other world, in spite of her resolute exclusion of it, was always looking round corners and peeping through chinks and crannies, and rustling and raiding into the order in which she chose to live, shining out of pictures at her, echoing in lyrics and music; it invaded her dreams, it wrote up broken and enigmatical sentences upon the passage walls of her mind. She wondered occasionally why his mind needed so much distraction. Stop! we must shut the door, or they'll catch us.
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