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Insulting cries became frequent and various, but for the most part she could not understand what was said. Such was the hubbub and tumult around him, that the carpenter could not hear its plunge into the flood. She rested for a half hour in heaven on earth, feeling herself drift in and out of sleep. Fresh flowers of loveliness have budded, expanded, died. Her recent attitude towards him was undoubtedly a pose. “It is a night of endings,” she murmured to herself.
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