She found herself again in the presence of some element in life about which she had been trained not to think, about which she was perhaps instinctively indisposed to think; something which jarred, in spite of all her mental resistance, with all her preconceptions of a clean and courageous girl walking out from Morningside Park as one walks out of a cell into a free and spacious world. Ramage,” she said, clinging to her one point, “I want to get out of this horrible little room. Ennison slightly——” There was a dead silence in the little room. "I'll go to her directly," said Wood, bustling towards the door. Wood's charms equalled your description.
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