‘The wretch said nothing to anyone. The third time she escaped she reached the inconsequent barricade of the overturned table. Then Gosse spoke again, answering the question in her mind. “Still, of course, it is possible. The dream flowers and is harvested, and we are left by the wayside, having served our singular purpose in the scheme of progress: as the orange is tossed aside when sucked of its ruddy juice.
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