From the further end of the apartment came the low music of a violin. That is what terrified her: the consciousness that nothing in her life would be continuous, that she would no sooner form friendships (like the present) than relentless fate would thrust her into a new circle. ‘Talk to me another time. She would be surrendering to all her impulses—particularly the good impulses—many of which society had condemned long since because they entailed too much trouble. He, next cautiously tried the door, but found it fastened inside. F.
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