He could think about it later. She took up one of her father’s novels and put it down again, fretted up to her own room for some work, sat on her bed and meditated upon the room that she was now really abandoning forever, and returned at length with a stocking to darn. It did not cheer or fortify him with false courage and recklessness; it simply enveloped him in a mist of unreality. If you want me, you know where to find me. She repeated this breathlessly. “I don’t want children, Lucy. The unfortunate woman was stretched upon the floor, with a bloody knife in her hand.
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