You would rather live like the scum of the earth, in that little brown hovel you call a house, in bourgeois paradise. There was no way to warn her of his presence without startling her. Even there a woman never gets a fair chance. If ever she felt fatigue in these long tramps which had already taken her half over London, she never admitted it. “Once or twice. She realized more and more the quality of the brink upon which she stood—the dreadful readiness with which in certain moods she might plunge, the unmitigated wrongness and recklessness of such a self-abandonment. He's passed through some rough mental torture. She did not twitch.
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