And turning again, as if the emotions she had churned up kept her on the move, she paced back to the mantel and there stopped, staring at her own reflection in the tarnished mirror. He was always in a state of semi-intoxication, but he was always gentle with me. ‘Espèce de bête,’ she snarled. She would not look at him, would not think of him; when her mind wavered, then she muttered to herself in the darkness so as to keep hold of her generalizations. ‘It could not be helped, whichever way I made my presence known.
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