The thought of their faces, and particularly of her aunt’s, as it would meet the fact— disconcerted, unfriendly, condemning, pained—occurred to her again and again. She fell asleep instantaneously, fatigued from weeks of exhaustion. “Hainault, Celeste’s friend. With people of that sort all sorts of things may happen. The sky beyond was a surreal color of pink that reminded her of the windows she had once been entranced by at the castle chapel, their leaden lines depicting old religious stories and sufferings. The weed was all right. Arrived in the plantation she sat down with her back against a tree trunk. Find your man, that’s the rule.
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