Lucia confined herself to her quarters, wondering when they would flee to the country as so many other houses had done. She was dressed in a simple evening gown of soft creamy silk, with a yoke of dark old embroidery that enhanced the gentle gravity of her style, and her black hair flowed off her open forehead to pass under the control of a simple ribbon of silver. His room was last at the end of one winding corner. They cleaned up the mess as best they could and she went home with him docilely. I don’t believe in the faults. 70 <9> A MARRIAGE, PART II She dreamt of the inn they had stopped at after her suicide attempt, the flea-ridden hostel her husband had angrily toted her to after the incident at the country house.
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