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‘You are mad,’ Gosse uttered, and only just had time to get himself up from the floor. It seemed to her the last desperate attack upon the universe that would not let her live as she desired to live, that penned her in and controlled her and directed her and disapproved of her, the same invincible wrappering, the same leaden tyranny of a universe that she had vowed to overcome after that memorable conflict with her father at Morningside Park. Lucy acted the part of savoring the end of the meal, but it was difficult. What'll we call him—Rollo?"—ironically. “Gods,” she said, at last, “I’ve done it this time!” “Well!” She took up the neat morocco purse, opened it, and examined the contents. Your mother, for instance, couldn’t. It was the gallows. There it is. "I was merely about to observe that I am in possession of her secret.
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