The area was sparsely populated. As she went on, the story began to sound more and more like a recitation. “Forty guineas a week. 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. It was the day I borrowed a pencil; the day we first spoke to one another. She opened and read it at once. Your Mom says to come downstairs for dessert.
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