ToC Mrs. “Now I’ll have what I want from you, wife. He could remember when women laid away their gowns in lavender—as this girl's mother had. She returned home through a world that was as roseate as it had been gray overnight. She moaned, having failed in her mission to find her mother and her God. The bed was hard beyond any experience of hers, the bed-clothes coarse and insufficient, the cell at once cold and stuffy. I was happy to oblige them, I had grown sick of the heat of the south and all the miserable sun. .
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