“It’s like the Picture and the Bust. No! That was impossible. ” “I had to,” she repeated. She felt she had to go on. “Everything goes on, confound it! One doesn’t change anything one has set going by making good resolutions. She watched them sleep for what seemed hours from the high window until her body grew colder than the stone sill she perched upon. You've never seen a typhoon, have you?" "No. It seemed to him that a sort of mist had risen up between them. She glanced into his face. That would be an unkind twist of fate. ‘Ah, non,’ exclaimed the husband. She realized more and more the quality of the brink upon which she stood—the dreadful readiness with which in certain moods she might plunge, the unmitigated wrongness and recklessness of such a self-abandonment. There were a few loose, broken fragments of rock to reckon with upon the ledges, and one place where hands did as much work as toes.
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