\" She said, looking beside him at a taller boy who appeared to be bored. His arm entered the round window of the white haze of her vision, his wrist spouting blood in currents, dripping on the stone floor. S. . There was the cottage she had inhabited for so many years,—in those fields she had rambled,—at that church she had prayed. “You see you do not know how much of truth there is in his story.
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