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Marvel was almost dislodged from his seat on the coffin by a dead dog, which was hurled against him, and struck him in the face. He whispered in her ear. She was very greatly exercised by the two systems of values—the two series of explanations that her comparative anatomy on the one hand and her sense of beauty on the other, set going in her thoughts. The fair boy in the audience who had waved was yet another suitor. “You have not seen your sister lately,” he remarked. “I—I am sorry—I didn’t explain. A disconcerting gray eye that had a mystifying depth. The immense disillusionment that awaited him! The devastating disillusionment! She had a vague desire to run after him, to state her case to him, to wring some understanding from him of what life was to her.
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