” “I suppose,” said Constance, stencilling away at bright pink petals, “it’s our lot. It comes over the mountains, Anna, pink darkening into orange red, everywhere a wonderful cloud sea, scintillating with colour. ‘Idiot. Why shouldn’t we be martyrs? There’s nothing else for most of us, anyhow. ” She assented gently. She was strong, not unlike a pack mule or a camel; she thought to herself and smirked. " "And you flatter yourself you can detain me?" laughed Jack. ’ She shrugged.
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