” “It is ironic that you say that, John, for it is I who am afraid of you. “You see, father,” she said, “it isn’t only this affair of the dance. ‘I’ll wager that militiaman never rode the animal, then. Their faces were masks of abject horror, sunken and shriveled, their cheekbones protruding. We will beg our bread and our shelter, and our passage on a boat. I felt—I felt living in a masked world.
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