Her sadness was manageable only because she was so familiar with its phases, because she could observe its moods remotely, like an astronomer studying the moon. He could not pull her soul apart now to satisfy that queer absorbing, delving thing which was his literary curiosity; he had put her outside that circle. She laughed softly, and leaned across the table. In each corner stood a stout square post reaching to the ceiling. ” “I am not afraid,” she answered. She chastised herself for thinking of her husband and lord as being weak.
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