It’s just that I want to say. She realized more and more the quality of the brink upon which she stood—the dreadful readiness with which in certain moods she might plunge, the unmitigated wrongness and recklessness of such a self-abandonment. “All right so far,” she said to herself. Detached, it was not impossible that she would be forced to leave the dining room because of invading tears. Don’t think it was anything better than fever—or a bit beautiful.
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