The evening breeze came; the bamboo shades on the veranda clicked and rasped; the loose edges of the manuscript curled. He could not pull her soul apart now to satisfy that queer absorbing, delving thing which was his literary curiosity; he had put her outside that circle. Sometimes I think I’ll miss them and I start to cry, but I’m ready to have a life of my own. 1. But, let's see the prisoner.
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