’ ‘It’s immaterial, in any event,’ Roding put in. She released her clutch on it as, dizzy with exhaustion, she leaned against the back of the pew and closed her eyes, her fingers grasping out automatically for support. The former was shot by Blueskin through the head, and his body fell over the bannisters. She could now see to read; so she stirred the manuscript about until she came upon the first page. She covered herself with her arms. “He means nothing!” She whispered loudly. All at once they came to the top, the faded blue sky overhead, and whichever way he looked, the horizon, the great rocking circle which hemmed them in. The procession had just got into line of march, when a dreadful groan, mixed with yells, hootings, and execrations, was heard. She would often steal away to tryst with him in the orchard, even now she felt her loins grow warm with the memory of his ardor. ‘And so?’ she asked. Anyhow, that is how things are.
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