"It won't do, widow," said he, drawing near her, while she shrank from his approach, "so you may spare your breath. There is turmoil, shouts, cries, jostlings, milling congestions that suddenly break and flow in opposite directions. “It isn’t fair. ” They left the restaurant just as the rain slowed to a dull trickle, the fury of the storm exhausted, having left mirror puddles in its wake. Mary is very good, but she is too nervous to be the slightest protection.
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