She sat on the edge of her bed and looked about her, at her room, at the row of black-covered books and the pig’s skull. “Your sex is a terrible fraud. All the same, I wish I had that fellow by the throat! Just the virile, unregenerate man in me wishes that. She went to the table under the end window at which she had been accustomed to work, and found it swept and garnished with full bottles of re-agents. At other times he seemed to have regained the normal completely.
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