" It was curiously like the intermittent murmur of the surf, those weird Sundays, when her father paused for breath to launch additional damnation for those who disobeyed the Word. When they reached her rooms she stepped lightly out upon the pavement. “It was poison—why not?” she answered. “Can’t it be altered? “I suppose an actress is free?. I’ve got a streak of male. What reassured her, however, more than anything else, was the shape of the mouth: it was warmly turned. “Happened! Oh, many things,” she declared indolently. "But if my career were truly exhibited, it must be as one long struggle against destiny in the shape of—" "Jonathan Wild," interposed Gay. And it’s like the petals falling from a flower.
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