She would never look squarely at these dream forms that mocked the social order in which she lived, never admit she listened to the soft whisperings in her ear. She was trying to bring her problems to a head, and her mind insisted upon being even more discursive and atmospheric than usual. It was a dark mysterious place, and what it was used for no one exactly knew; but it was called by those who had seen it the Well Hole. A tourist caravan of four pole-chairs jogged along a narrow street. .
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