She calls us her guests, but in reality we are her prisoners. She looked down tassels of his shiny shoes with a scowl. She chose to hold her nose. I applaud your prudence: it is, however, needless. But after all, what did it matter whether she had secrets or not? To him she was not a woman but a symbol; and one did not investigate the antecedents of symbols. "I want to speak to Edgeworth Bess myself. Her husband stared at her over the candle flame. Excuse me an instant while I dismiss this person. I’m not mad that he has eyes for you instead of me, not mad at all. Was that it? Had she clothed this unhappy young man with glamour? Or was it because he was so alone? She could not get through the husks to the kernel of what really actuated her.
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