She was afraid people would follow her, she was afraid of the dark, open doorways she passed, and afraid of the blazes of light; she was afraid to be alone, and she knew not what it was she feared. But she no longer felt Jacomo’s age, even if she looked it. The doll she had never owned, the cat and the dog that had never been hers: here they were, strangely incorporated in this sleeping man. However good you were to me, and however happy I was in other ways, I should find this intolerable.
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