She made a step forward. “You MUST,” he said, “because of my depression. Come!” They went out together and he called a hansom. He could not pull her soul apart now to satisfy that queer absorbing, delving thing which was his literary curiosity; he had put her outside that circle. Like a nightmare memory that returned again and again to haunt her. He would have to sit down here in Canton and wait, perhaps for weeks.
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