He opened the door for her with a faint disagreeable smile. Compared to most of America, you’re rich. The blood will rest on your head. They were in many respects so right; she clung to that, and shirked more and more the paradoxical conviction that they were also somehow, and even in direct relation to that rightness, absurd. Then light footsteps became audible, descending the staircase with a certain deliberation and a faint rustle of skirts. Hold your hand for a moment. Let me walk you to the door.
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