The place, in which they stood, was a small entrance-chamber, cut off, like the segment of a circle, from the main apartment, (of which it is needless to say it originally constituted a portion,) by a stout wooden partition. That was the wonder of these stories; one lived in them. Still, something had marked the face, something had left an indelible touch. The way—the way we are led on! We are taught to believe we are free in the world, to think we are queens. By George, I forgot! McClintock said there was a typewriter in the office and that I could have it. —The general who gives an order for wholesale carnage never sleeps a wink the less soundly for the midnight groans of his victims, and we should deride him as a coward if he did.
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