The miserable woman staggered, uttered a deep groan, and fell senseless on the straw. It 163 invariably leads to trouble. ‘Go on up to the boy, my dear. E. The recollection of the forlorn and loveless years—stirred into consciousness by the unexpected confrontation—bent her as the high wind bends the water-reed. She was honest again. “I am bored,” she said abruptly.
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