She leaped suddenly at a desperate resolution, and in one moment had made it into a new self. She slipped down the perfunctory flight of stairs, short because of the home’s split-level style. Buried under various ancestral sixteenths, smothered under modern thought, liberty of action and bewildering variety of flesh-pots, it was still alive to the extent that it needed only his present state to resuscitate it in all its peculiar force. He declined to come in. CHAPTER XI. “John! Welcome! Happy Thanksgiving!” Cathy cried, ushering him deeper into the house. “Oh, John, please!” “You are already leaving me. For a long time he stared at the empty doorway. I didn't think.
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