A light was visible in the garret, feebly struggling through the damp atmosphere, for the night was raw and overcast. "Are you not that man's mistress?" demanded Mrs. She pushed the former and it opened. Abruptly would come the end. "You know not what you do. And turning again, as if the emotions she had churned up kept her on the move, she paced back to the mantel and there stopped, staring at her own reflection in the tarnished mirror. “I will not have this slavery,” she said. . You see—I didn’t understand.
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