And Ann Veronica walked beside him, trying in vain to soften her heart to him by the thought of how she had ill-used him, and all the time, as her feet and mind grew weary together, rejoicing more and more that at the cost of this one interminable walk she escaped the prospect of—what was it?—“Ten thousand days, ten thousand nights” in his company. "Here!" shrieked Lady Trafford. Below the window he saw two coolies carrying a coffin, which presently they callously dumped into a yawning pit. Her father’s ideas of expostulation were a little harsh and forcible, and over the claret-colored table-cloth and under the gas chandelier, with his hat and umbrella between them like the mace in Parliament, he and his daughter contrived to have a violent quarrel. The longing to talk to someone! But in the end she had gone to her room without giving in to the craving. They were sure to catch up with her. Why didn’t I die? Why does God hate me so? Why does He not want me? I didn’t die because I’m weak, because I am cursed! I hate this poisoned world! But most of all. ‘He just came. ‘You see now how dangerous it is to play this lone hand. The hand that had been clenched lay open, relaxed; and upon the palm he saw her mother's locket. ‘The wretch said nothing to anyone.
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