” He said, his voice tinged with worry. " "I am calm—quite calm, Rowland," she answered, with lips whose agitation belied her words. What better way to be rid of him? ‘Jacques,’ she uttered urgently. A hand of iron fell upon the scowling young man’s shoulder. She could feel her body rebel against her actions, convulsing, so she forced herself to think of her mother in Heaven, her mother's beautiful face, the sun dancing across the rivers of her home. They agreed to lend her their hold-all and a large, formless bag which they called the communal trunk. ‘Your wife?’ ‘My wife,’ he repeated, rising also, his smile mocking her. His name is John.
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