At the present moment she was living in a world of her own creation, a carnival of brave men and fair women, characters out of the tales she had so newly read for the first time. " "You don't remember your mother?" "Oh, no; she died when I was very little. The thin stream of blood on which her eyes were fastened with a nameless horror reached almost to her feet. . ” “We’ll have, thank God! ten myriad days to tell each other things. What was she going to do? One main idea possessed her: she must get away from home, she must assert herself at once or perish.
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