Montague Hill. She told her husband that she wished her nothing more than her own death. Pews had been brought in and set in two rows before the huge table, covered in white cloth, that formed the altar at the far end. “Life—things—I don’t think her prospects now—Hopeful outlook. " "So you think," muttered Jack, between his ground teeth. ” The conversation hung for a moment. She wished that the drive would never end, but it was only three miles after all. It was red and chapped.
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