McClintock, striking a match to relight his cigar, broke the spell. Then, I thought, she has repented, all will be well. And this great mellow place, this London, now was hers, to struggle with, to go where she pleased in, to overcome and live in. “I won’t go home,” she said; “I won’t!” and she evaded the clutch of the fatherly policeman and tried to thrust herself past him in the direction of that big portal.
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