Lucy vomited onto the floor at the sight of her mother dying, the black spots expanding across her corpse. "I'm afraid we'll have to dig into his trunk," he said. But it was almost choked up with fallen stacks of chimneys, broken beams of timber, and shattered tiles. “I wonder if there is anything wrong with my manners,” she said. That is what terrified her: the consciousness that nothing in her life would be continuous, that she would no sooner form friendships (like the present) than relentless fate would thrust her into a new circle.
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