It was a grand life. “No man can realize,” she said, “what that pit can be. The room was papered with green, large-patterned paper that was at worst a trifle dingy, and the arm-chair and the seats of the other chairs were covered with the unusual brightness of a large-patterned chintz, which also supplied the window-curtain. He had been baptized there. From the sounds of it, he was better off dead. My uterus and my ovaries are gone. Michelle moaned and Lucy, unable to help herself, stroked her hair. The stretch of red dirt disappeared into a stretch of trees like Van Gogh’s painting. Only a few weeks ago there was a bloody battle on the bridge there between the soldiery and the local police. Her parents left two weeks later, the weather still fine.
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