“She wasn’t sane, my wife. You may perceive harmony, proportion, rhythm, intensely. She could feel his breath on her skin, every hair on her arms and neck raised in response. His absence was thought by the charitable to be from grief. No one spoke, and she was impelled to flounder on. Maggot and Edgeworth Bess. The hour for which, presumably, she had been created was drawing nigh.
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