“What does it mean?” I wondered. “Could it be some strange consequence of her illness? Wasn’t she mad, or going out of her mind? But, good God, where was she now?
Where should I look for her?” I had hardly said this to myself when I caught sight of Nellie a few steps from me on the V-m Bridge. She was standing under a street
lamp and she did not see me. I was on the point of running to her but I checked myself. “What can she be doing here now?” I wondered in perplexity, and convinced
that now I should not lose her, I resolved to wait and watch her. Ten minutes passed. She was still standing, watching the passers-by. At last a well-dressed old
gentleman passed and Nellie went up to him. Without stopping he took something out of his pocket and gave it to her. She curtsied to him. I cannot describe what I
felt at that instant. It sent an agonizing pang to my heart, as if something precious, something I loved, had fondled and cherished, was disgraced and spat upon at
subtank nanothat minute before my very eyes. At the same time I.
Yes, tears for poor Nellie, though at the same time I felt great indignation; she was not begging through need; she was not forsaken, not abandoned by someone to the
Dream beauty pro hard sellcaprice of destiny. She was not escaping from cruel oppressors, but from friends who loved and cherished her. It was as though she wanted to shock or alarm someone
by her exploits, as though she were showing off before someone. But there was something secret maturing in her heart. . . . Yes, my old friend was right; she had
been ill-treated; her hurt could not be healed, and she seemed purposely trying to aggravate her wound by this mysterious behaviour
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