That her husband was not touching her anymore grew to be like a disease, something to be cured. “I don’t think she quite sees the harm of those people or the sort of life to which they would draw her,” she said. “Morning, Mom. " "It's mine, I'll be sworn," rejoined Wood. " "It is strange," replied Winifred, artlessly. He took her fingers and lifted his eyes to hers. Perhaps her odd beauty—and that too was natural—stirred these thoughts into being. “I’d have to sneak out after everyone was asleep. Moving back to the corner again, she ran a hand back over the leather-bound books—which, she realised, were not books at all. Swinging her arm in an arc, she let go of the foil and it flew across the chapel towards the main door, crashing down between the pews, and clattering onto the floor. Wood, furiously. She was too delicate, too fragile to survive out there. Annabel, I cannot believe it. "And yet—but it is only part of the chain of ill-luck that seems wound around me. If I could but——” To escape from her thoughts she began to undress, humming a light tune to herself, though her eyes were hot with unshed tears, and the sobs kept rising in her throat.
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