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There was already a score or more of people there, some standing up and talking together, others seated in chairs ranged along the wall. There was the cottage she had inhabited for so many years,—in those fields she had rambled,—at that church she had prayed. “Do you think you’ll ever get married, Lucy?” Lucy shifted uncomfortably as she pulled her makeshift nightgown—an old T-shirt—over her head. And now she was discovering that even Nature was something of a liar, with her mirages and her horizons. When it came time to eat once again, she hid out on the beach, a remote fastness beyond the city walls, a swampy morass that everyone avoided.
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This video was uploaded to waterscolumns.info on 30-09-2024 18:05:50