She jumped up at once, caught up a leather clutch containing notebooks, a fat textbook, and a chocolate-and-yellow-covered pamphlet, and leaped neatly from the carriage, only to discover that the train was slowing down and that she had to traverse the full length of the platform past it again as the result of her precipitation. The amazing tonic of the thought! From time to time she laid her hand upon Spurlock's forehead: it was still cold. In the recess beside the fireplace were some open bookshelves. And there was another matter. . After several vain attempts to burst it open, he resolved, as a last alternative, to break through the wall in the part nearest to the lock. “I think, aunt,” she said, “you might trust to my self-respect to keep me out of that. That is what terrified her: the consciousness that nothing in her life would be continuous, that she would no sooner form friendships (like the present) than relentless fate would thrust her into a new circle.
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