” Lucy said with concern. They were now in a sort of cellar, at one end of which was a door. Sometimes it seemed that she would never recover it. “I suppose all life is an affair of chances. Lucy’s guts ached with jealousy and bitterness, building in a knot that twisted in her stomach, rag-like. It is a true saying that in the mountains there is peace. Too late, alas, to stop the disastrous marriage.
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