The bed was hard beyond any experience of hers, the bed-clothes coarse and insufficient, the cell at once cold and stuffy. " "But what, in God's name, possessed you? You have already wrecked your own life and now you've wrecked hers. “Most of it is ugly and frowsy,” she declared, “but it isn’t worth talking about. If not, I have plenty to think about,” she answered, leaning back in her chair, and watching the smoke from her own cigarette curl upwards. And, as he was about to put himself into a posture of defence, his mother clasped him in her arms. Denis. And now the fiend Gosse had taken even that away from her. “She found my collection of witchcraft books under my bed and threw them away. Of course, if at any time—see reason—alter your opinion. She had adored the stupid thing, and kept it in her pocket for about ten years. He was ruffled, and his ears were red, no doubt from some adjacent controversy. "Surely," she said, after a pause, "you don't attach any importance to what my mother has just said.
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