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Confound this slavery of sex! I am a man! I will get this under if I am killed in doing it!” She scowled into the cold blacknesses about her. "Oh! no—no—no," cried Winifred, "I cannot believe it. 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 met him by the dugout after the game.
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