" Awed by Jonathan's manner, Mrs. Her mind turned to her own future, the endless trickle of years. ’ He flushed. He felt no pain from this cowardly kick. If only sometimes he would grow angry at her, impatient! But his tender courtesy was unfailing; and under this would be the abiding bitterness of having mistaken gratitude for love. She went about the gory business of disposing of the bodies, cutting them up with a large butcher knife and packing the light dry pieces of their bloodless remains in a double ply garbage bag, pieces that looked like overcooked, ruined meat. ” 209 Clotilde was no fool. .
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