It would be useless to tell her to go back, even heartless; and yet he could not advise her to go on, blindly, not knowing whether her aunt was dead or alive. ” She replied informally. “It is a night of endings,” she murmured to herself. I can’t help it. “There are policemen—and buses. They're apt to be surly to strangers, but it soon wears off. She reminded him sometimes of the one holy and ineffable Madonna, at others of Berode, the great courtezan of her day, who had sent kings away from her doors, and had just announced her intention of ending her life in a convent. The prostitute’s attack was predictable, typical. Looking at this girl, a sense of failure swept over him. “Take my advice,” he said hoarsely.
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