“I am glad,” she told herself, “I came. It was a perfect windless spring day, a Sunday. The clouds were nearly black with rain, threatening to spill sleet in daggers and torrents. —The general who gives an order for wholesale carnage never sleeps a wink the less soundly for the midnight groans of his victims, and we should deride him as a coward if he did. Her sensitive ears could hear her foster mother snoring in front of the television. Lucy’s solos were exquisite in their precision and expression.
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