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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 cried for hours but would not scream as her mother was packed into a marble coffin. Quilt's manner, indeed, was that of a man endeavouring to muster up sufficient resolution for the commission of some desperate crime. “I had no idea that it was so abominably late.
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