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The recollection of all her unhappiness, the loveless years, the unending loneliness, the injustice of it, rolled up to her lips in verbal lava. Rats and things crawling all over. Several people were passed out on the sectional sofa, and muffled noises emanated from other rooms indicating that the party’s embers were still smoldering, but John was nowhere to be seen. “Drive to 13, Montague Street, cabman,” she ordered. But as she got out of the train at Morningside Park Station she had a shock.
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