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. She recognized the cloth at once, waylaid him, and with that directness of speech particularly hers she explained what she wanted. ‘You would have a history of my life? Very well. Her motherly features creased into anxious wrinkles. CHAPTER XII.
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