Niece and aunt regarded each other for a moment over their pockethandkerchiefs with watery but antagonistic eyes, each far too profoundly moved to see the absurdity of the position. Its dreariness, like the filthiness of the police cell, was a discovery for her. "What good would it do you to destroy me? For I have courage to kill myself. I’d ruin the things if I so much as touched one. But she was disturbed, mysteriously disturbed.
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