Occasionally the mere fact of lying in bed became unendurable, and she rolled out and marched about her room and whispered abuse of herself—usually until she hit against some article of furniture. “Dreadful women, my dear!” said Miss Stanley. Something or other—she did not catch what—he was damned if he could stand. Surely he was imagining this picture. "Where am I?" she cried, passing her hand across her brow.
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