She passed down the stairs and into the street. She realized more and more the quality of the brink upon which she stood—the dreadful readiness with which in certain moods she might plunge, the unmitigated wrongness and recklessness of such a self-abandonment. Let me recommend a glass of wine. Monsieur could rely upon his special attention, and for the cooking—well, he had his customers, who came from their homes to him year after year. This obstacle removed, he thought he might now make the attempt.
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