She was not afraid of violence, but she was afraid of something mean, some secondary kind of force. Clearing the recess the instant after his companion, he flew to the door of the inner room, and, locking it, took out the key. She was crushed with a sense of her own terrible impotency. This getting up at dawn—real dawn—and working until seven was a distinct novelty. "Whose grave is this?" he inquired of a man who was standing near it.
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