“Loneliness,” she said, “is a luxury which I never permit myself. She was recalling the circumstances under which she had engaged herself to Manning, and trying to understand a curious development of the quality of this relationship. She saw her mother, her pale face, a woman in a white robe, calling to her from a sun drenched balcony. “The conventions do not matter one little bit. "It's all over," groaned Wood, "and perhaps it's as well her senses are gone.
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