“As a matter of fact, I deserve to. Standing over the pierced Rhea, Lucy bayed, a long cry that was half-scream and half-howl. A white house that she often found charming loomed gray and ashen, its gardens shorn for the coming winter. “You mean to tell me” he said, “that you have a lover? While I have been keeping you! Yes—keeping you!” This view of life he hurled at her as if it were an offensive missile.
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