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. ’ ‘Pottiswick, you mean, miss?’ ‘Yes, yes. It grew clear to her that throughout all her wild raid for independence she had done nothing for anybody, and many people had done things for her. A creeping numbness invaded her.
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