simply lost all hope. “Rather darker than most of them. Forgetting her occupation in her anger, she left off bathing Darrell's wrist; and, squeezing his arm so tightly that the boy winced with pain, she clapped her right hand upon her hip, and turned, with flashing eyes and an inflamed countenance, towards her crest-fallen spouse. She could still smell the now familiar scent of him on the girl's body in the makeshift grave. One doesn’t want to lose a grain. She didn’t choose her man.
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