The recollection of all her unhappiness, the loveless years, the unending loneliness, the injustice of it, rolled up to her lips in verbal lava. “My dear Anna! As though I should think of depressing you with my long list of misdeeds. It might be three yards in width, and a few more in length; but it was covered with ooze and slime, and the waves continually broke over it. “Anything is better than this—this stifled life down here. He said the place had gone to wrack.
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