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In the recess beside the fireplace were some open bookshelves. It was true. “I’m d——d if I understand this,” he said thoughtfully. “But of course it’s aunt’s doing really. Don’t imagine that. I’ll kill you, Sheila, and I’ll kill her too. Everything I could do! Your father sat up all night. It seemed to her the last desperate attack upon the universe that would not let her live as she desired to live, that penned her in and controlled her and directed her and disapproved of her, the same invincible wrappering, the same leaden tyranny of a universe that she had vowed to overcome after that memorable conflict with her father at Morningside Park. The tourist season would soon be at ebb, and it would be late in September before the tide returned. If she has no children, she goes on loving her husband; but he is no longer a man but a child.
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