She was vehemently impatient—she did not clearly know for what—to do, to be, to experience. The walls are too high, and the windows too stoutly barricaded in this quarter, to admit such a supposition. I’m fine. What was the alternative to going home? No alternative appeared in that darkness. I will shed no more blood. If ever I did meet a man I could love, I should love him”—her voice dropped again—“platonically. ’ He let her go. “Michelle, don’t do this.
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