She was sick of herself, of her life, of everything but him; and for him all her masked and hidden being was crying out. I told you that at the outset. He saw that his words were falling upon dull ears. She attended to that, and then dismissed it as unimportant. ‘It does not seem to me that you can be an emissary for that pig. She met his eyes for a moment, and could not interpret their expression. ‘Aye, that she was. “Life’s so queer,” she said, kneeling and looking into the flames.
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