At second hand it would be unendurable. He saw the girl, and sprang up in bed. Her white shirt was mired with a central bloodstain, his pants caked with mud. “Was I that bad?” He asked. “Come in here a moment, will you, Blanche,” he said. A struggle of the most terrific kind now ensued. It dealt from floor to ceiling and end to end with the Theory of the Forms of Life; the very duster by the blackboard was there to do its share in that work, the very washers in the taps; the room was more simply concentrated in aim even than a church.
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