The recollection of all her unhappiness, the loveless years, the unending loneliness, the injustice of it, rolled up to her lips in verbal lava. . ” She finished her breakfast and strolled out across the garden with the letters still in her hand. Panting with effort, she held her point menacingly at Gosse’s chest. Softly she rose to her feet. I’d take it— forgive me if I seem a little urgent—as a sort of proof of friendliness. After the usual laconic greetings, he drew him on one side.
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