Time was moving so fast, she could no longer count the days since Gosse had come to her with his preposterous suggestion at the Coq d’Or, where they were staying and where he had robbed her and left her and Martha to their fate. It seemed incredible that she and her aunt were, indeed, creatures of the same blood, only by a birth or so different beings, and part of that same broad interlacing stream of human life that has invented the fauns and nymphs, Astarte, Aphrodite, Freya, and all the twining beauty of the gods. The terrors and anxieties of the last few months seemed to have fallen from her, to have passed away like an ugly dream, dismissed with a shudder even from the memory. She mentally reprimanded herself to alter her own visage so as not to appear depraved. She made a double kill mid-month in a trailer park, a forty year old man and his seventeen year old wife, finding out too late that she was seven weeks pregnant. He had informed her that to leave him would be a choice to live a life of meager subsistence. As the wedding neared, she bought some finer things: a veal roast for supper, a single pearl for the dowry. "Affairs are not normal in Canton at present. ‘You said she was beautiful. A species of vertigo seized him. Anna tore it open and passed it to Courtlaw. .
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