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 had only been prevented, indeed, by a fear of Mrs. gutenberg. Anna, in her strange striking way, was radiantly beautiful. She passed him silently as she dropped Michelle’s dried corpse into the open clay pit awkwardly, like a discarded doll. She must not tell Martha about Gerald.
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