She approached a soft-looking bespectacled girl she had seen once in the halls and noticed for her haunted look. And then they disgorged. For a time she furnished the flat. No matter how often she came across this phase in love stories, there was never anything explanatory: as if all human beings perfectly understood. The one profession, the one decent profession, I mean, for a woman—except the stage— is teaching, and there we trample on one another. She had narrowly escaped Martin in Orchestra class, who had been wrapped up discussing a new piece of his with Mr. Before her was a great Gothic portal.
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