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"The door's open, and the room empty. The cook tried to ply her with spiced meat and fish soup. Then she took her sister’s hand. Occasionally the mere fact of lying in bed became unendurable, and she rolled out and marched about her room and whispered abuse of herself—usually until she hit against some article of furniture. I spied a small picture of them in your house, though. Pottiswick’s daughter found her tongue. He heard the door close; and in a little while he fell into a doze; and there came a dream filled with broken pictures, each one of which the girl dominated. You may enjoy your pride, your arrogance—in a coffin. '" "No, we can't stand that," hiccupped Smith, scarcely able to keep his legs.
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