Those are all nice things, but it’s not what I want. She stopped abruptly, and looked in a flower-shop window. The white haze of poison clouded her eyes. It had ceased to beat. For a moment she thought of saying yes, and then filled with shame. Things were thrown here and there, to be taken up, or again cast aside, as the whim arose; while the broken-backed chairs and crazy table bore the marks of many a conflict. She was dressed for the street very much as her own maid was accustomed to dress, and there was a thick veil attached to her hat.
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