Her cheeks were aflame. She fell into a deep delirium, whispering hoarsely to her dead mother, cursing God in Heaven, cursing her doctor, cursing herself as apparitions of devils and demons pulled at her with yellow ochre hands. I wish”— she found she had embarked on a bad sentence—“I wish we needn’t have quarrelled. Anything that might stir the sense of love And God has mocked me through it all. The idea of this sudden reluctance was elusive; the fact was evident but not the reason for it.
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