Mr. What had happened to it? She had broken it, certainly. “Dear friend,” she said, “do not magnify me into a physiological problem. There were doorways to peer into, dim cluttered holes with shadowy forms moving about, potters and rug-weavers. Always the other things remained. “You come into these sordid surroundings—you mustn’t mind my calling them sordid—and it makes them seem as though they didn’t matter.
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