On taxing his recollection, the whole circumstance rushed to mind with painful distinctness. It began to rain, a cold sweat of precipitation that was more sickly than refreshing. A door slammed. "You want me, then?" she said. He was always drawing contrasts between a woman’s lot and a man’s, and treating her as a wonderful new departure in this comparison. She found it extremely difficult to infuse an air of quiet correctitude into her return through the window, and when she was safely inside she waved clinched fists and executed a noiseless dance of rage. Someone had thoughtfully wrapped a bit of tissue paper round the electric bulb.
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