For a time she looked at no more apartments, and walked through gaunt and ill-cleaned streets, through the sordid under side of life, perplexed and troubled, ashamed of her previous obtuseness. The twists in his brain had suddenly straightened out; he was normal, wholly himself; and he knew now exactly what he had done. Hopefully. But at length, there was a click, and with a swish, the panel of painted books swung outward from the wall. Nobody can anticipate your next move. .
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