“But, my dear,” she began, “it is Impossible! It is quite out of the Question. But he could only utter an inarticulate exclamation. She walked for a mile or more recklessly, close veiled, with swift level footsteps, though her brain was in a whirl and a horrible faintness all the time hovered about her. Whatever he wrote he was: he became this or that character, he suffered or prospered equally. He knew not how to act, urged as he was in two directions.
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