She realized more and more the quality of the brink upon which she stood—the dreadful readiness with which in certain moods she might plunge, the unmitigated wrongness and recklessness of such a self-abandonment. He could imagine it even if he could not feel it. To-night I locked up my flat at six o’clock. He threw up his hand, reeled for a moment on his feet, and collapsed upon the floor. ’ I said. She could visualize the picture she had presented, particularly the battered papier-mâché kitbag at her feet.
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