1. I felt somehow I’d hurt you. Your purpose is done. The brain tires of resistance, and when it meets again and again, incoherently active, the same phrases, the same ideas that it has already slain, exposed and dissected and buried, it becomes less and less energetic to repeat the operation. There was a little pain, but it wasn’t anything. Her mother did not seem to like the new doctor at all, shunning him with a near superstitious dread. There was a long silence between them. I loitered in the shop as you chatted with the butcher’s girl.
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