She wondered who the girl might belong to as she patted dirt over the shallow grave. “Think of the mockery!” she said. “Why not? It might amuse me. ‘She knows what she’s up against. "It reminds you of a red sea suddenly petrified. Having accomplished his intent, Gerald let the lad go and had himself driven back to Stratton Street. They WERE, she realized, acutely beautiful things.
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