She could smell the sweet girl child he had buried in the garage in autumn, 1 even under the frozen ground. Here her strength completely failed her, and she was compelled to seek some repose. With such qualifications as she possessed, two chief channels of employment lay open, and neither attracted her, neither seemed really to offer a conclusive escape from that subjection to mankind against which, in the person of her father, she was rebelling. He did not look up, so he did not know that in her other hand she held a glass of wine.
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