’ ‘Some, of course,’ put in Gerald, ‘have been unable to recover anything. "Eh-day! what's this?" cried Wood, looking up from beneath his spectacles. "All life is a muddle, and we are all muddlers, more or less. She found herself again in the presence of some element in life about which she had been trained not to think, about which she was perhaps instinctively indisposed to think; something which jarred, in spite of all her mental resistance, with all her preconceptions of a clean and courageous girl walking out from Morningside Park as one walks out of a cell into a free and spacious world. But Jack did not heed them.
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