“Mrs. She tried to imagine herself “getting something,” to project herself as sitting down at a desk and writing, or as returning after her work to some pleasantly equipped and free and independent flat. She had lost her sense of direction, and was among unfamiliar streets. The father would be all steel. Abruptly would come the end. The sense of publicity, of people coming and going about them, kept them both unemotional. She had been sitting on the bench for two and a half hours, which was uneventful except for the homeless men who begged for change.
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