The waterman sheltered his mouth with his hand while he spoke, or his voice would have been carried away by the violence of the blast. Arrived in Paris she remembered that she had not the money for a fiacre. If you owe your confinement to me, you shall owe your liberation to me, also. To wait for hours and hours for the night! The sea empty for days! You forgot the monotony, the endless monotony, that bends you and breaks you and crushes you—you forgot that!" Her voice had steadily risen until it was charged with passionate anger.
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