This isn’t the place. I waited until he was asleep and then I tied him up with some duct tape and some old rope he had in the shed. She could visualize the picture she had presented, particularly the battered papier-mâché kitbag at her feet. She returned home through a world that was as roseate as it had been gray overnight. She found herself alone in the train asking herself what she must do next, and trying not to think of herself as cut off from home or any refuge whatever from the world she had resolved to face. All the village was assembled in the churchyard.
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