He hated the taste of it. It had ceased raining, but the atmosphere was moist and chill, and the ground deluged by the recent showers. Indeed, it seemed inevitable that she must clear it up with his assistance, or not at all. They carried no more than bare subsistence wages; and they demanded all her time and energy. When she awoke she felt as if she were adrift on a soft cloud through a golden sky. She hated tricking Shari, whose joy for life was the only thing that made her naive enough to fall for laced iced tea or hot cocoa, depending on the season. Every man in her life had betrayed her one way or another. ” “The only Montague Hill I ever knew,” Annabel said slowly, “is dead. “Child!” he cried. ’ ‘A convent?’ echoed Gerald with interest.
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