She heard the bamboo curtain rattle slightly. “Young lady! Are you sure you’re of legal age to be smoking those cigarettes?” “No, I’m not of legal age. The recollection of all her unhappiness, the loveless years, the unending loneliness, the injustice of it, rolled up to her lips in verbal lava. She gurgled. " "The same who was here just now?" "No, Sir Rowland, a much finer boy. She saw her life before her robbed of all generous illusions, the wrappered life unwrappered forever, vistas of dull responses, crises of makebelieve, years of exacting mutual disregard in a misty garden of fine sentiments. She pointed across the road. It was a night of storm and terror, which promised each moment to become more stormy and more terrible. And if she was ever found living in the area like that, homeless, John could somehow find out.
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