“Why do you kill me?” Michelle asked. Anna stood on the step and looked up and down the street for a hansom. “It may not be just and so forth, but, after all, it is how things are. She saw her life before her robbed of all generous illusions, the wrappered life unwrappered forever, vistas of dull responses, crises of makebelieve, years of exacting mutual disregard in a misty garden of fine sentiments.
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