Spurlock sat limply, his arms hanging. I'd like to be alone now. She exhaled, feeling the tension drain from her shoulders and arms. The sunshine was brilliant, the air mild. The recollection of all her unhappiness, the loveless years, the unending loneliness, the injustice of it, rolled up to her lips in verbal lava. It's almost incredible. "Constance—or, rather, Mrs.
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