“Anna! What tragedy has happened, little sister? No lights, no supper, no coffee —and, above all, no Mr. It’s these damned novels. They are blinded to all fine and subtle things —they look at life with bloodshot eyes and dilated nostrils. I hate what I am. I know all about it. She walked for a mile or more recklessly, close veiled, with swift level footsteps, though her brain was in a whirl and a horrible faintness all the time hovered about her. Then I threw a bucket of dirty water on his face and said, ‘Listen, asshole, let’s get one thing straight.
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