Man's fate is in his own hands. The London backgrounds, in Bloomsbury and Marylebone, against which these people went to and fro, took on, by reason of their gray facades, their implacably respectable windows and window-blinds, their reiterated unmeaning iron railings, a stronger and stronger suggestion of the flavor of her father at his most obdurate phase, and of all that she felt herself fighting against. Once more cheered by daylight, he hastened forward, and entered the chapel. There are a thousand questions I'd like to ask you, but I sha'n't ask them. It was just a chance that we in particular hit against each other—nothing predestined about it.
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