She realized more and more the quality of the brink upon which she stood—the dreadful readiness with which in certain moods she might plunge, the unmitigated wrongness and recklessness of such a self-abandonment. The glass in the windows was broken—the roof unthatched—the walls dilapidated. The period of repression was over. It’s horrible to think of you!” “You’re an awful brick, Teddy!” she said.
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