It seemed to her the last desperate attack upon the universe that would not let her live as she desired to live, that penned her in and controlled her and directed her and disapproved of her, the same invincible wrappering, the same leaden tyranny of a universe that she had vowed to overcome after that memorable conflict with her father at Morningside Park. The future was not so black. ‘You must think me a fool, mademoiselle. Too late now. Perhaps what I need is something to bite in. "You shall not pass," cried several of the crowd. She had money of her own—much more than I have—and there was no need to squabble about that. At the recollection that it was his, she seemed to fall through a thin surface, as one might fall through the crust of a lava into glowing depths. If you want me, you know where to find me. “You call yourself an artist— but you have no temperament.
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