To go to him, to console him! But she stirred not from her hiding place. He turned irresolutely to the table upon which lay the scattered leaves of his old manuscripts. He became primitive, literal in his conception; the ramifications were, for the nonce, fairly relegated to limbo. “I won’t go home,” she said; “I won’t!” and she evaded the clutch of the fatherly policeman and tried to thrust herself past him in the direction of that big portal. Giles Bowl I.
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