You can’t go. Accounts were now always where he could put his hand on them. Jack, whose back was towards it, did not see it; but he heard, from the pitying exclamations of the crowd, that it was in view. It seemed to her the last desperate attack upon the universe that would not let her live as she desired to live, that penned her in and controlled her and directed her and disapproved of her, the same invincible wrappering, the same leaden tyranny of a universe that she had vowed to overcome after that memorable conflict with her father at Morningside Park. Something in her voice and manner conveyed an effect of unwonted gravity to him.
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