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. I dined with a friend and went to the ‘Unusual. The effects of the heroin wore off slowly. “You will come back, won’t you?” He nodded cheerfully. I have written, called—of what avail is anything—against that look. Such pretty manners, she thought.
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