The mother was far more real to her than the father; the ghostly far more substantial than the living form. It wasn’t long ago that a girl went straight from the farm to her husband, just as soon as her period came and she could make babies. Stanley regarded him through his glasses with something approaching animosity. I’m behaving shockingly, I know. I never forgive an injury. The air was sweet with the smoky perfume of myrrh, hazy and dense with incense. She—She can snub him.
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