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           Herfirstthoughtwas:“He’sgoingtooinafewhours—Ineedn’tseehimagainbeforeheleaves...”AtthatmomentthepossibilityofhavingtolookinDarrow’sfaceandhearhimspeakseemedtohermoreunendurablethananythingelseshecouldimagine.Then,onthenextwaveoffeeling,camethedesiretoconfronthimatonceandwringfromhimsheknewnotwhat:avowal,denial,justification,anythingthatshouldopensomechannelofescapetothefloodofherpent-upanguish.

           ShehadtoldOwenshewastired,andthisseemedasufficientreasonforremainingupstairswhenthemotorcametothedoorandMissPainterandSophyVinerwereborneoffinit;sufficientalsoforsendingwordtoMadamedeChantellethatshewouldnotcomedowntillafterluncheon.Havingdespatchedhermaidwiththismessage,shelaydownonhersofaandstaredbeforeherintodarkness...

           Shehadbeenunhappybefore,andthevisionofoldmiseriesflockedlikehungryghostsaboutherfreshpain:sherecalledheryouthfuldisappointment,thefailureofhermarriage,thewastedyearsthatfollowed;butthosewerenegativesorrows,denialsandpostponementsoflife.Sheseemedinnowayrelatedtotheirshadowyvictim,shewhowasstretchedonthisfieryrackoftheirreparable.Shehadsufferedbefore—yes,butlucidly,reflectively,elegiacally:nowshewassufferingasahurtanimalmust,blindly,furiously,withthesinglefierceanimallongingthattheawfulpainshouldstop...

           Sheheardhermaidknock,andshehidherfaceandmadenoanswer.

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Roboto Lora
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