I’m rather scornful. Against the sinister, the threatening, monstrous inhumanity of the limitless city, there was nothing now but this supreme, ugly fact of a pursuit— the pursuit of the undesired, persistent male. A lesson learned. Wanton! Had I been one, even God would have forgiven me, understanding. One of these, a lady, evidently a confirmed invalid, and attired in deep mourning, reclined upon a sort of couch, or easy chair, set on wheels, with her head supported by cushions, and her feet resting upon a velvet footstool.
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