‘The truth is, Everett,’ she said brightly, limping up to the general and tucking a hand in his arm, ‘that the girl is you all over again. An old woman took her in. She had slapped him away with her free hand and the finger was released suddenly, sending her careening to the floor. But not finding it, he had again recourse to the bludgeon, and began beating the hand fixed on the upper rail, until, by smashing the fingers, he forced it to relinquish its hold. They had been so considerate of the earth they had touched that they barely left a footprint. She would be in the library, her favorite place, or on the bench by the colored glass window with her embroidery. As she hoisted her skirts near her waist, she thought ruefully of the last time she had worn such an elaborate gown, sometime near 1910 when petticoats were still considered hip everyday garb. ‘It is the life I know. See paragraph 1.
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