“I suppose I should let go if I had. Spurlock. Her sadness was manageable only because she was so familiar with its phases, because she could observe its moods remotely, like an astronomer studying the moon. The cart, meantime, had approached the fatal tree. Suddenly she understood. He opened it—just off-hand, and then when he saw what it was he hit at the table and sent his soup spoon flying and splashing on to the tablecloth.
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