“But you must forgive me, John. She hit the villain with it. The stench is everywhere. Acting upon this humane determination, he impelled himself slowly backwards,—for he did not dare to face the blast,—and with incredible labour and fatigue reached the crevice. And God had let him do it! He was—and now he perfectly understood that he was—treading the queerest labyrinth a man had ever entered. All the best novels have been written by women, and yet see how men sneer at the lady novelist still! There’s only one way to get on for a woman, and that is to please men. When he reached the happy ending, he waited. . Then she looked at her aunt, and traced with a curious eye the careful arrangement of her hair, her sharp nose, the little drooping lines of mouth and chin and cheek. For what indeed does she do? A simple song, no gesture, no acting, nothing. He could have easily forced it, but preferred a more expeditious mode of reaching the roof which suggested itself to him.
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