He sat back in an easy chair with a hand upon each of the elbows, and looked steadfastly into the fire. This helped to restore Ann Veronica’s self-command. Her mind invoked her husband, who she imagined lying dead in a ditch somewhere, tortured and killed by brigands or perhaps eaten by creatures like herself, a fate he actually deserved. I did what I could to comfort her but she died in terrible pain. She’s hated me for no apparent reason ever since Fourth Grade.
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