It seems to me just talk; it seems to me like the fancy of a dream. I want to be a human being; I want to learn about things and know about things, and not to be protected as something too precious for life, cooped up in one narrow little corner. The door was locked; but, with the bars of iron, it was speedily burst open. “Miss Pellissier,” he said, “I don’t understand this change in you. Vitally, she had the letter that proved her identity as a Charvill: the one her father had written to the Abbess when he sent her to the convent. Her lover surely did not 223 understand the implications of what he had asked for and his lust blinded him to the realities of existence even now. This was the body of a man, apparently lifeless, and stretched upon a mattress, with his head bound up in a linen cloth, through which the blood had oosed.
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