It was the size of my palm. Emile looked at her, then down, and clearly caught the bright gleam on the floor. The recollection of all her unhappiness, the loveless years, the unending loneliness, the injustice of it, rolled up to her lips in verbal lava. His name was Marvel, and his avocation, which was as repulsive as his looks, was that of public executioner. For a time he would be the grim Protestant Flagellant, pursuing the idea of self-castigation. ” “Oh Jesus.
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