"I quarrel with no man's political opinions, but I will have my own respected!" "Eh day!" exclaimed Mrs. ‘I don’t know what the devil you’re talking about. She saw her life before her robbed of all generous illusions, the wrappered life unwrappered forever, vistas of dull responses, crises of makebelieve, years of exacting mutual disregard in a misty garden of fine sentiments. She was sick of herself, of her life, of everything but him; and for him all her masked and hidden being was crying out.
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