The intoxicating sense of novelty had given place to a more business-like mood. “Why can’t you tell people that you are what you are? Why all the secrecy?” She looked beyond the farmhouse. The spinster saw herself growing warm again in the morning sunshine of youth —a flaring ember before the hearth grew cold. The Ragged Edge. She could still remember his face, the perpetually wet lips that turned down at the sides, his drooping Roman eyes.
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