What she did not know, and what she was never to know, was that the divine fire was hers. Even then she had understood vaguely that she had touched upon some philosophy of life: that one was never lonely when alone, only in the midst of crowds. But, alas! she was beautiful—and beauty is a crime not to be forgiven by a jealous woman. She was practically an outcast, she had not even the ghost of a plan as to her future, and she had something less than five pounds in her pocket.
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