To get behind that impenetrable curtain, to learn why she hated her island. To return was impossible,—to raise himself certain destruction. It was a night of storm and terror, which promised each moment to become more stormy and more terrible. She had found two copies of the magazine and carefully cut out both photos. But after all, what did it matter whether she had secrets or not? To him she was not a woman but a symbol; and one did not investigate the antecedents of symbols. Something in her lack of embarrassment irritated him. He hated the taste of it. C below.
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