There was the motor accident, too. Not the explosive vigour of the north-born, but that which would quietly meet physical hardships and bear them triumphantly. No sterner head was ever beheld beneath the cowl of a monk, or the bonnet of an inquisitor. Jane was a smoldering auburn-haired Irish beauty who seldom spoke to anyone. “I must read him when I come out. "Go to lunch," he ordered Ruth. She stood on the mat instead, and looked down on him. ’ ‘But where then is Gosse?’ demanded Melusine. She fell into a pleasant dream of positions and work. She drank and drank until his body was a lifeless husk, as light as a mannequin, virtually hollow of all but the fluid in his bones. He confided to me that he felt trapped in his marriage, that he was being ruined by fate.
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