’ I received strange looks from them. I wrote three letters yesterday and tore them up. She attacked me with a carving-knife, and, when I had disarmed her, the jade bit off a couple of fingers from my left hand. The ink, contained in a grimy bottle unearthed in the outhouse, was old, and made blotches as soon as it touched the paper. She waited expectantly. He cupped her small hands in the bowl of his large ones and reassured her in the kindest manner, saying, “You will have the finest life that Florence has to offer. But I can give it its name now.
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