She sat on the edge of her bed and looked about her, at her room, at the row of black-covered books and the pig’s skull. \"Today's Friday, isn't it?\" Lucy remembered. She had intended to be quietly dignified, but he was in a smouldering rage from the beginning, and began by assuming, which alone was more than flesh and blood could stand, that the insurrection was over and that she was coming home submissively.
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