He had fallen off when trying to tie down his aluminum paint ladder. The autumn rain had made every surface tacky, the wet seats of painted red picnic tables were avoided. I didn’t go out of my way or anything. 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.
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