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Edith Wharton

The House of Mirth

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    how can they see you in these holes where we're stuck?" That was the burden
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    even her weeping
    was an art
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    “Why do we call all our
    generous ideas illusions, and the mean ones truths? Isn’t it a
    sufficient condemnation of society to find one’s self accepting
    such phraseology?
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    “My idea of success,” he said, “is personal freedom.”
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    she must follow up her success,
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    She had been bored all the afternoon by Percy Gryce—the
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    the art of accumulation.
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    Every form of prudence and suspicion had been grafted on a nature originally reluctant and cautious, with the result that it would have seemed hardly needful for Mrs. Gryce to extract his promise about the overshoes, so little likely was he to hazard himself abroad in the rain.
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    inner vanity is generally in proportion to the outer self-depreciation.
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    the voice of a pulpit orator
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    make you out.
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    She was so evidently the victim of the civilization which had produced her, that the links of her bracelet seemed like manacles chaining her to her fate.
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    for a coarse texture will not take a high finish;
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    "argument from design."
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    Her husband's faith in her had made her renewal possible—it is so easy for a woman to become what the man she loves believes her to be!
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    One of the surprises of her unoccupied state was the discovery that time, when it is left to itself and no definite demands are made on it, cannot be trusted to move at any recognized pace. Usually it loiters; but just when one has come to count upon its slowness, it may suddenly break into a wild irrational gallop.
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