The curtain before one mystery was torn aside, and she saw in reality what lay behind the impulse that had led her into the young man's room. But you must not imagine me wrapped in melancholy. For a time she looked at no more apartments, and walked through gaunt and ill-cleaned streets, through the sordid under side of life, perplexed and troubled, ashamed of her previous obtuseness. A single blanket constituted his sole covering at night. I was just like a sort of dummy that does things as it is told—that is to say, as the strings are pulled.
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