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Wood, leaping from the bed. At times he seemed to be claiming pity from her; at times he was threatening her with her check and exposure; at times he was boasting of his inflexible will, and how, in the end, he always got what he wanted. If he had nothing to tell her, she had nothing to ask. ‘Not kill me, I mean. The summer arrived, speeding the Plague and with it the famine in the streets. Someone bounded up the stairs, which groaned from the strain, unmistakably Mike. She saw her life before her robbed of all generous illusions, the wrappered life unwrappered forever, vistas of dull responses, crises of makebelieve, years of exacting mutual disregard in a misty garden of fine sentiments.
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