"You'd have hit it off better if you'd called her The Sow. Against the sinister, the threatening, monstrous inhumanity of the limitless city, there was nothing now but this supreme, ugly fact of a pursuit— the pursuit of the undesired, persistent male. This—all this swamps them. He could not promise that she would ever appear again in that house. What's it like, Joan?" "It's a small key, with curiously-fashioned wards. Gently she raised his head and withdrew the coat from under the pillow. “It’s glorious good!” “Suppose now—look at this long snow-slope and then that blue deep beyond —do you see that round pool of color in the ice—a thousand feet or more below? Yes? Well, think—we’ve got to go but ten steps and lie down and put our arms about each other.
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