“I’m still new to them. I dare not reflect upon the effect that her son's fate,—if the efforts to save him are ineffectual,—may have upon her enfeebled frame, and still worse upon her mind. Ann Veronica was lying on her bed in a darkling room staring at the ceiling. He was brooding over her, she could sense it, and the shadowy circles around his lovely dark eyes bespoke a terrible ongoing insomnia. She could smell the sweet girl child he had buried in the garage in autumn, 1 even under the frozen ground. I tried painting and couldn’t get on.
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