Morningside Park was a suburb that had not altogether, as people say, come off. When it came time to eat once again, she hid out on the beach, a remote fastness beyond the city walls, a swampy morass that everyone avoided. “You go home,” he said, at parting; “you go home. There were lines in her face that age had not put there. He had pictured her, if indeed she had ever had the courage to do this thing, as sitting alone, convulsed with guilty fear, starting at her own shadow, a slave to constant terror.
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