"And the will?" he said, with forced calmness. ‘You are dead, you,’ he yelled back, leaping into the seat of the final pew. That night a grave was dug in Willesden churchyard, next to that in which Mrs. Lucy’s guts ached with jealousy and bitterness, building in a knot that twisted in her stomach, rag-like. I want to make you feel that here is a place where the crowd does not clamor nor ill-winds blow. She saw his purpose and his doubt hesitated also, and then went to him, took his coat lapels, and kissed him on the cheek. And she—’ ‘She!’ interrupted the young lady crossly. She wanted to think of him as her beloved person, to be near him and watch him, to have him going about, doing this and that, saying this and that, unconscious of her, while she too remained unconscious of herself.
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