Conscientious objectors to that process are not permitted, she found, in Canongate. Something in his smile, in the cynical suggestiveness of his deferential tone, maddened her. The place was pockmarked with window-like holes everywhere—people were always 138 falling into them and breaking bones--it was for these lookouts why she had chosen it. But always this new phase in life which civilization called convention threw up barrier after barrier. It was a great weight from her shoulders to confide in another human being, and she suspected he did truly believe her.
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