But tell me one thing I don’t understand—tell me one thing: How can you help it by coming down into the battle and the mire? That’s the thing that concerns me. The act was mechanical, a bit of sparring for time: his anger was searching about for a new vent. One transgression; he was sure of that. She had never been to the opera before except as one of a congested mass of people in the cheaper seats, and with backs and heads and women’s hats for the frame of the spectacle; there was by contrast a fine large sense of space and ease in her present position. "Where are you going?" she asked.
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