She rose at once with a little exclamation, half of surprise, half of pleasure. She realized that with a pang of disgust and horror. “We sent for you several hours ago,” he remarked. The prostitute’s attack was predictable, typical. He made a movement toward her, and then recalled the circumstances of their last conversation in that study. ” He was slightly tipsy. It was open. " And, with a few magical touches, he stamped the fleeting expression on the canvass. She was supposed to be lifeless; but she survived the accident, though she never regained her strength. A spot of colour, brighter than any rouge, burned on her cheeks. Now I’d like the rest of your story. Wood, whose loss I shall ever deplore. For a time she looked at no more apartments, and walked through gaunt and ill-cleaned streets, through the sordid under side of life, perplexed and troubled, ashamed of her previous obtuseness. I saw the metal box a hundred times, but I never thought of opening it until the day I fled.
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