265 The madness crept around her like smoke under a door. ‘That’s just it. I can’t love you. ” It was as if she faced a darkness in which was something very beautiful and wonderful as yet unimagined. He could remember when women laid away their gowns in lavender—as this girl's mother had. At night she would turn it in her fingers like a rosary bead. Spurlock mused over the previous night.
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