” She laughed at him easily and mirthfully. It’s a tremendous blow, of course—but it doesn’t kill me. “I was sick of the make-believe. Analysis would come later, when the primitive conscience, satisfied, would cease to dominate his thought and action. "The door!—the door!—death!" he added, as he tried the handle, "it is locked—and I am unarmed. “Nor am I going to,” she answered, smiling. Nothing would induce me to marry you, or any man at present.
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