In all these weeks she had not once knelt to pray. That turned her mind to the more generalized aspects of her perplexities again. ‘The man’s gone,’ her old nurse told her, when she had recovered a little. When he was up and about, the idea of flight would return. She screamed as she saw that their throats had been ripped out and their dead eyes bulged with horror as their heads lolled from mere strings of sinew and flesh. Beauty doesn’t mean, never has meant, anything—anything at all but you.
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