Lucy jammed her foot down onto Mark McCloskey’s forehead. It was only a matter of time. She was alone, and the mask of her unchanging high spirits was for the moment laid aside. Why didn’t I die? Why does God hate me so? Why does He not want me? I didn’t die because I’m weak, because I am cursed! I hate this poisoned world! But most of all. ‘Ah, yes? To what do I pretend?’ ‘That,’ Gerald said regretfully, ‘I have not yet been able to fathom.
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