It had been intensified and corrupted by time, as if to add insult to injury. She would never look squarely at these dream forms that mocked the social order in which she lived, never admit she listened to the soft whisperings in her ear. She turned with an effort. ‘How is this? Proo-den-ss. “And so you have been thinking?” her father began, quoting her letter and looking over his slanting glasses at her.
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