"It's like enough, I dare say," rejoined Sheppard. She was by his side. She took refuge in beating her pillow and inventing insulting epithets for herself. His energy began to slip away and she sank her teeth into his fat carotid artery below the piano wire, which had drawn blood from his neck. It’s the sort of way a woman always does gloss over her ethical positions. Life is a patchwork of impressions, of vanishing personalities.
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