She was aware of it now as if it were a voice shouting outside a house, shouting passionate verities in a hot sunlight, a voice that cries while people talk insincerely in a darkened room and pretend not to hear. She felt he was going to say something more—something still more personal and intimate. It reminded her viscerally of her subhuman status, stripped away of the pretenses of art, intellect, and nicety.
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