I was mean to him. She wanted air—and the distraction of having moving and changing things about her. “It is true. Get a license—just an idea of mine. I freely forgive you. Accordingly, when she arrived at the Shovels, with which, as an old haunt in her bygone days of wretchedness she was well acquainted, instead of entering the principal apartment, which she saw at a glance was crowded with company of both sexes, she turned into a small room on the left of the bar, and, as an excuse for so doing, called for something to drink.
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