I pray, Anna, that you may find your happiness. “I don’t know whether I shall go on,” said Gwen, a novel note of languorous professionalism creeping into her voice. She dragged the broken bottle across her carotid artery, creating an inch-deep gash upon her throat. After he was gone in the morning, Ruth would steal into the study and hurriedly read what he had written the previous night. I’m sorry to hurt your feelings.
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