” He said. She had gone into Morgan's one afternoon for a bag of salt. Hope reared. Nothing like the direct approach, she thought. The flowers and turf, a wild strawberry, a rare butterfly, and suchlike little intimate things had become more interesting than mountains. ‘Ah, now I may see what damage Gérard has done to me,’ she muttered, crossing to the table and putting her hand to the sore place at her neck. Like the flaws of an old marble.
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