At the thought of the major, her tears redoubled and she was obliged to rip off a piece from the remnants of her already maltreated underpetticoats with which to blow her nose and soak the damp from her cheeks. The recollection of the forlorn and loveless years—stirred into consciousness by the unexpected confrontation—bent her as the high wind bends the water-reed. I know nothing about the girl, save what you have told me. The moisture from the sea was constant, and she spent countless hours staring at the sea from the west tower, the rise and fall of waves. “It was poison—why not?” she answered.
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