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” “I don’t believe it,” he answered hoarsely. It’s like this: You want freedom. A fever of shame ran through her being. She sat there, a mark for boulevarders, the unconscious object of numberless wondering glances. Lord help him! he's the very image of his father. Then for a time she sat very still. There was no one else in the doorway. But women—women as a rule don’t throw themselves into things like that. His foot touched the rounded edge of the starling, and glanced off, precipitating him into the water.
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