She walked down the station approach, past the neat, obtrusive offices of the coal merchant and the house agent, and so to the wicket-gate by the butcher’s shop that led to the field path to her home. “Think of the mockery!” she said. He seemed to be about to move toward her. "But your threats won't prevent my leaving the room when I please, and as I please. ” Michelle’s tone grew livelier and more excited. . .
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