By a sort of instinct. She opened the door to him herself. And the grotesquest fact was that she did not so much loathe, as experience with a quite critical condemnation this strange sensation of being kissed. Her momentary instinct was to run to him and be comforted, like the old times. John turned toward the short staircase as she alit upon the first creaky step. . The Night-Cellar XVIII.
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