She fought him at first, screaming at him, but he did not relent. But there was no feeling of remorse; there was only the sensation of exaltation. Whether it was the nun’s habit or the harlot’s clothing that distressed her more, he could not begin to guess. But that title he would not endure. At the back of her mind there seemed always one irrelevant qualifying spectator whose presence she sought to disregard. " "Heaven support me!" cried Mrs. Acting upon this humane determination, he impelled himself slowly backwards,—for he did not dare to face the blast,—and with incredible labour and fatigue reached the crevice.
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