He stopped on the curb-stone, not facing her but as if he was on his way to cross the road, and spoke to her suddenly over his shoulder. She tried to imagine herself “getting something,” to project herself as sitting down at a desk and writing, or as returning after her work to some pleasantly equipped and free and independent flat. Mr. He was a man who in all things classified without nuance, and for him there were in the matter of age just two feminine classes and no more—girls and women. My heart fails me. Something, then, to appease the wrath of God; something to blunt this persistent agony.
Video ID: TW96aWxsYS81LjAgQXBwbGVXZWJLaXQvNTM3LjM2IChLSFRNTCwgbGlrZSBHZWNrbzsgY29tcGF0aWJsZTsgQ2xhdWRlQm90LzEuMDsgK2NsYXVkZWJvdEBhbnRocm9waWMuY29tKSAtIDE4LjIxNy4yMDcuMjMgLSAwMi0wNi0yMDI0IDA1OjE0OjU2IC0gMTU4MjY4MzIyOA==
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