“A glass slipped from the table,” he explained. On the floor was a handkerchief, a little morsel of lace. “I think, aunt,” she said, “you might trust to my self-respect to keep me out of that. " "Have you told him so?" she inquired, reproachfully. But she no longer obsessed over heresy, no longer did she feel cursed by God. It was just a chance that we in particular hit against each other—nothing predestined about it. His salary was a few paltry hundreds a year. Consternation gripped him.
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