Mr. It seemed to her the last desperate attack upon the universe that would not let her live as she desired to live, that penned her in and controlled her and directed her and disapproved of her, the same invincible wrappering, the same leaden tyranny of a universe that she had vowed to overcome after that memorable conflict with her father at Morningside Park. "He seems infatuated about the lad," observed Wild. After all there are other things. She felt a hysterical desire to strike him, to burst out crying, to blurt out the whole miserable truth. Ramage’s bitterness passed as abruptly as his aggression. She had fallen into it naturally, the only expression of the dance she had ever seen or known, and that a stolen sweet. Some one was standing beside him.
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