She wanted to cry out upon herself for the uttermost fool in existence. Awful shapes seemed to flit by, borne on the wings of the tempest, animating and directing its fury. Manning, relinquishing his cup without answering her question, “when I hear you talk of earning a living, it’s as if I heard of an archangel going on the Stock Exchange—or Christ selling doves. She exhaled, feeling the tension drain from her shoulders and arms. Good-bye aunt. Her pulses began to race.
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