‘He prayeth best who loveth best—all things both great and small. They left the room amongst the last, and Ennison had almost to elbow his way through a group of acquaintances who had all some pretext for detaining him, to which he absolutely refused to listen. She found a clean sweatshirt and soft pajama pants, glad to trade the wet for the dry. What he wanted desperately was to be alone. Her mind invoked her husband, who she imagined lying dead in a ditch somewhere, tortured and killed by brigands or perhaps eaten by creatures like herself, a fate he actually deserved.
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