“Shut up, you little faggot. “To me it seems serious enough. Assured, if he remained much longer where he was, he would inevitably perish, Wood recommended himself to the protection of Heaven, and began his perilous course. She had been forced to buy herself that pair of boots and a walking-skirt, and the pearl necklace at the pawnbrokers’ had yielded very disappointingly. Why? While the front of his mind was busy warning her not to fall into the hopeless miseries of underpaid teaching, and explaining his idea that for women of initiative, quite as much as for men, the world of business had by far the best chances, the back chambers of his brain were busy with the problem of that “Why?” His first idea as a man of the world was to explain her unrest by a lover, some secret or forbidden or impossible lover. She fell asleep instantaneously, fatigued from weeks of exhaustion. "It was that song that put it into my head to cut my name on the beam. “I am too much in earnest,” he answered, “to be able to take this matter lightly. And now I've another job for you. All the world about her seemed to be—how can one put it?—in wrappers, like a house when people leave it in the summer.
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