” He put his hands on her shoulders and lowered her onto the flat surface of the picnic bench. Even the stars were strangers. "Women must have their wills while they live, since they can make none when they die," observed Wood, as he imprinted a kiss of reconciliation on the plump hand of his consort;—a sentiment to the correctness of which the party chiefly interested graciously vouchsafed her assent. Having disposed of his steed and swallowed a glass of brandy, without taking any other refreshment, he threw himself on a couch, where he sank at once into a heavy slumber. He still wore his hat, to show that the days of miracles and Christ being civil to sinners are over forever. Lucy’s guts ached with jealousy and bitterness, building in a knot that twisted in her stomach, rag-like.
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