She was writhing to get her hands loose and found herself gasping with passionate violence, “It’s damnable!—damnable!” to the manifest disgust of the fatherly policeman on her right. Where the devil have you hidden all those weapons? Don’t tell me you’ve got ’em with you. No one will ever love you as I love you now. The door into the passage offered itself with an irresistible invitation—the one alternative to a public, inexplicable passion of weeping. "Strange!" he continued, as if talking to himself. 1.
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