Swiftly following the sound of knocking, she crossed right and passed through a door near the windows—and found herself in the bookroom. It seemed to her the last desperate attack upon the universe that would not let her live as she desired to live, that penned her in and controlled her and directed her and disapproved of her, the same invincible wrappering, the same leaden tyranny of a universe that she had vowed to overcome after that memorable conflict with her father at Morningside Park. John, he was between me and the door.
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