The same old lines and verses, over and over, until there had come times when shrieking would have relieved her. Too late, alas, to stop the disastrous marriage. The island had evidently grown round this lagoon, approached it gradually from the volcanic upheaval—an island of coral and lava. She was taken dreadfully ill on the road, with spasms and short breath, and swoonings,—worse than ever she was before. Never was there another girl like this one. He had promised her some books, for she had voiced her hunger for stories. Here was an appalling fact: all her previous loneliness had been trifling beside that which now encompassed her and would for years to come. Another long interval elapsed. It makes me want to be just everything I CAN be to you.
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