She got up, drew up her blind, and stared out of window at a dawn-cold vision of chimneys for a time, and then went and sat on the edge of her bed. It is no good. Only I wish that it did not remind one so much of a second-hand clothes shop. This business of love is the supreme affair in life, it is the woman’s one event and crisis that makes up for all her other restrictions, and I cower—as we all cower—with a blushing and paralyzed mind until it overtakes me!. She was beautiful once, Lucia. "I think you're all bewitched," she cried.
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