She felt herself falling, her bile rising in her 61 throat, the cold wind spinning around her like vertigo. . It makes no difference. Overcome by his affliction, Mr. Did he intend to kill her now, this instant? Or had she a moment or two to try to save herself? Recalling Leonardo’s dictum, she did not struggle, for that would only tighten the trap about her, and perhaps even spring it. The world into which she was so boldly venturing was going to be wonderful, but never so wonderful as the world within these paper covers. —There, Mr.
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