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The curtains which she had left drawn were open, and the electric lights were turned on. Occasionally the mere fact of lying in bed became unendurable, and she rolled out and marched about her room and whispered abuse of herself—usually until she hit against some article of furniture. ‘Monsieur Charvill thought perhaps that his daughter would find not a welcome. Supposing she saw the young man at dinner that night, emptying his bottle? She could not go to him, sit down and draw the sordid pictures she had seen so often. But all normal humans smelled wonderful to her, even dirty ones.
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