“This life is killing me! Oh, it is dull, dull, dull!” Suddenly an idea seemed to strike her. “Dear me,” she said, “I fancy you exaggerate my fame. He stood upon the threshold, dangling his eye-glasses in his fingers, stolid, imperturbable, mildly interrogative. Her lips came together with an expression between contentment and the faintest shadow of a smile, her manner was one of quiet reserve, and behind this mask she was wildly discontented and eager for freedom and life.
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