And like that gospel it meant something, something different from its phrases, something elusive, and yet something that in spite of the superficial incoherence of its phrasing, was largely essentially true. You must forgive the poet’s license I take. She was writhing to get her hands loose and found herself gasping with passionate violence, “It’s damnable!—damnable!” to the manifest disgust of the fatherly policeman on her right.
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