How came you, Sir," he continued, addressing Sheppard, "to venture upon that frame. Relief flooded her. She decided to leave after Prom. “And you brought her a man, I presume. Now I’d like the rest of your story. She would never look squarely at these dream forms that mocked the social order in which she lived, never admit she listened to the soft whisperings in her ear. It’s the poor dears who do, who know they will, know they can’t keep it up, who need to clutch at way-side flowers. All that I regret are the wasted years, and I am not sure that I regret them. She was not allowed to bathe herself: another prisoner, with a privileged manner, washed her.
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