“Don’t you know, child, that this is torture for me? What in God’s name more can you have to tell me?” Her face had become almost like a marble image. Her roving eagerness was at all times shaded with shyness, reserve, repression. It presented itself in the likeness of a great, gray, dull world—a brutal, superstitious, confused, and wrong-headed world, that hurt people and limited people unaccountably. CHAPTER XVI. ’ ‘Eh bien, it is your fault entirely in this case.
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