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Perhaps what urged her interest in the young man's direction was the dead whiteness of his face, the puffed eyelids and the bloodshot whites. ‘You make a game with me, I think. Restlessness, then, was the trouble, simple restlessness: home bored her. I should lose every scrap of independence—even my self-respect. She felt a storm of emotion surging up within her. Seems as she don’t trust soldiers easy.
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