. Her long incarceration at the convent in Blaye had taught her to be dismissive of her own appearance. “What a gloomy person you are!” she murmured. They were bickering, she could tell by the way the mother threw her fat arms into the air and paced restlessly about the tiny clapboard house. He glanced downwards at the impetuous torrent, which he could perceive shooting past him with lightning swiftness in the gloom.
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