He had pictured her, if indeed she had ever had the courage to do this thing, as sitting alone, convulsed with guilty fear, starting at her own shadow, a slave to constant terror. All other things were without weight or consequence before the fact that this poor young man would have to depend upon her for his life. Hang the wench! Roding was right. I’ve bored you or something. Since she was only seventeen when she had them, she didn’t deal with it very well. The entire city seemed to exist for beauty and art alone. Small blame to her.
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