Occasionally the mere fact of lying in bed became unendurable, and she rolled out and marched about her room and whispered abuse of herself—usually until she hit against some article of furniture. The stretch of red dirt disappeared into a stretch of trees like Van Gogh’s painting. ” Anna stepped to the foot of the bed. They were the only real marriages she had seen clearly. It's all your fault, you shaking coward! and, but that I feel sure you'll swing for your carelessness, I'd throw you into the well, too.
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