It was finished by the end of that year, each character having asserted itself pronouncedly in my imagination. “It spreads like wildfire. Her mind invoked her husband, who she imagined lying dead in a ditch somewhere, tortured and killed by brigands or perhaps eaten by creatures like herself, a fate he actually deserved. " He was delighted to find the office deserted. The ticket line filtered slowly into the glass doors, growing louder and more boisterous by the minute. Of course she had taken the boy as her lover, acting as his muse. It has been a marvellous day—and I am going to England.
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