“I suppose a girl MUST be underpaid and sweated,” said Ann Veronica. The terrific mental tension of the past few months —that had held his bodily nourishment in a kind of strangulation—became as a dream; and now his vitals responded rapidly to food and air. He leapt down into the haha surrounding the terrace, and saw that the nun was there also and backing towards him, anxiously checking now and then above the level of the terrace. He sat alone in his brother’s old car night after night that summer, staring blankly at the red sky beyond the abandoned farmhouse where she had once shown him her secrets. “Where is my beautiful wife?” He bellowed from the downstairs. Their faces were masks of abject horror, sunken and shriveled, their cheekbones protruding.
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