She felt her skills make a belated return. “By Jove!” he said, “there is something direct about you. I cannot live without you, Anna. You can’t do that sort of thing unless you do it over religion, and there’s no religion in me—of that sort—worth a rap. ” He came and stood on the hearthrug close to her. 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.
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