An electric light flashed out from the wall. This getting up at dawn—real dawn—and working until seven was a distinct novelty. She saw her life before her robbed of all generous illusions, the wrappered life unwrappered forever, vistas of dull responses, crises of makebelieve, years of exacting mutual disregard in a misty garden of fine sentiments. He stamped his last letter as Annabel entered. Lucy followed.
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