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” She stopped buttoning her glove, and looked at him. On the one hand, she seemed to think plainly and simply, and would talk serenely and freely about topics that most women have been trained either to avoid or conceal; and on the other she was unconscious, or else she had an air of being unconscious—that was the riddle—to all sorts of personal applications that almost any girl or woman, one might have thought, would have made. That's a queer yarn. The carpet was a quiet drugget and not excessively worn, and the bed in the corner was covered by a white quilt.
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